Angel Boys
by asphaltcowgrrl
Summary: New kid Wes Mitchell moves to LA from the East Coast unexpectedly. He hates being the new kid in school, making friends, fitting in, none of it has ever been all that easy for him. And then he meets Travis…
1. Chapter 1

1 – Glad You Came

_The sun goes down_

_The stars come out_

_And all that counts_

_Is here and now_

_My universe will never be the same_

_I'm glad you came_

There were some classes that should be irrevocably stricken from today's curriculum, he groused internally. Take, for example, this combined health and careers class. Who the hell even thought of combining two subjects that couldn't be more different if they tried. Unless you planned to be a doctor, a nurse or a freaking social worker, how did these two subjects even cross paths? The school district's administration was enough to boggle the most intelligent mind.

Lost in his ruminations, Travis wasn't entirely paying attention to his self-absorbed teacher discussing the evils of bad nutrition to the class. After all, he ate, he ran, he was healthy. Who needed nutrition? Not to mention the fact that Alejandro Rejas was an absolute bore. B-O-R-E. But that was a moot point at this juncture. With a glance over his right shoulder, he searched for the clock that hung on the back wall. His eyes had just focused on the time when the door to the classroom opened.

And in entered the most intriguing boy looking a little bit lost and more than a little out of place.

Blonde hair stood up in little flounces running the length of his forehead, framing a pair of the clearest blue eyes. Cut short in the back, shaved almost to the skin, it didn't even think about touching the collar of his formal button-up. Travis momentarily wondered if he'd just moved from Antarctica, considering just how pale the boy was – and there's just no way you could legit spend any time in California and be _that _white – when the teacher spotted the newcomer by the entrance.

"Well, come in and close the door, for the love of Pete," he said, waving the newbie up towards his desk. "New or transferring from another class?"

Nodding, the blonde approached the teacher's desk, pink admittance slip in hand. "Yes, sir, I'm new." He moved in a deliberate and methodical manner, gauging each step before he took it. Cautious, but aware.

Mr. Rejas took the slip of paper from him, opened his attendance book, and scribbled. "Wesley Mitchell," he muttered. "I assume you're a junior as well?"

"No, sir," he corrected, "sophomore. My old school… well, did things differently, I suppose."

Rejas grunted, acknowledging and condemning in one vocal maneuver. Blondie, as Travis was coming to think of him, glanced around the room, taking note of the exits, he assumed, or maybe simply trying to scope the seat farthest away from anyone. He'd find out soon enough. "Wesley or Wes?"

"Excuse me?"

Rejas deflated audibly, irritation plain on his face. "Do you prefer Wesley or something else?"

_Oh._ "Uh, well, Wes is fine, I guess…"

"Wonderful." The instructor's voice said it was anything but, however.

Travis watched the exchange with feigned indifference. He'd always thought of Rejas as being a bit of a prick, the way he was treating the new kid only serving to cement that notion for Travis. The boy, however, was fine, that much was obvious. Lean, long legs – runner's legs, he thought – tight ass. He was a bit scrawny, but that wasn't anything a burger or two couldn't fix after long, languorous bouts of afternoon sex. A lascivious grin spread slowly across his face. Despite being a touch on the thin side, he had large hands, strong, and nimble, too, he bet. Travis had a few suggestions on exactly how he could use those manly hands, if he were asked. One square jaw, a broad nose, and a bottom lip that begged to be bitten rounded out the tempting package before him. _Oooh, and look at that dimple when he smiles… _

"Marks?"

Ripped harshly out of his soon-to-be X-rated daydreams, Travis scowled at his teacher, catching the gaze of the new kid in the process. A faint tinge of pink rose in the blonde's cheeks the moment their gazes met. _Could he know what I was just thinking? Nah, probably not. _"Yeah?"

It was obvious that Rejas had been trying to gain Travis' attention for at least a few minutes and wasn't happy about having to repeat himself. He was brusque on his best day, but today, he was plain agitated. "Get your crap off that empty desk beside you so Mitchell can sit and we can get back to our discussion." Because the pitfalls of a poor diet was certainly on everyone's list of _things to learn today_.

"Yes, sir," he mocked, tugging his backpack off the desktop in question. His gaze held steady on the new kid as he made his way around their fellow students and slid into the freshly emptied seat. He was sure to be an enigma, of that much, Travis was certain. Quiet, withdrawn, passive. But that flicker of inquisitiveness in his eyes gave Travis hope that there was some life in there. Some spirit.

"Thanks," Blondie muttered, instantly wary of the predatory grin on his neighbor's face, uncertain of what it might mean.

"Don't mention it, Buttercup." Travis made a show of appraising the newcomer one last time, long and lingering. Eyes, mouth, hands, hips, feet, eyes. Oh yeah, quite the package.

"If you're quite through ogling the new kid, Marks, I'd like to continue." Wes flushed an immediate and attractive shade of pink at their teacher's abrupt words.

"If you must continue, Mr. Rejas, then I suppose I'm finished," Travis snarked back, unconcerned with the consequences of both blatantly gawking at a fellow student – they considered that sexual harassment these days – and unashamedly belittling his teacher. The eyeful he'd gotten was worth an hour's worth of detention. It'd certainly given him enough material to daydream through at least one day's detention.

This Mitchell kid was a little more preppy than he usually went for – Oxford button up, pressed khaki pants, and loafers for cryin' out loud – but he was intriguing, enticing. In a word, he wasn't like anyone else in this craptacular school. He was an odd duck, different, and that piqued Travis' interest in a big way. And his libido, too.

There wasn't anything Travis loved more than a challenge. And this Wes Mitchell was going to be just that.

Wes was concerned. What kind of school had his parents enrolled him in this time? His second period neighbor looked like he was ready to have him for dinner. What if all the students here were as disrespectful as this Marks character? How would he manage to fit in?

Truth was, he knew he'd never fit in. He hadn't yet, and this school wouldn't be any different from the others. He was always too something – too new, too smart, too strange – to ever quite find his niche. It had bothered him at first, but soon, he came to relish the fact that no one wanted to be friends. Made it that much easier when the time came to leave again, because it inevitably always did.

Noticing that he was the only one without a text book, he sighed inwardly, wondering if he should stop the already irritated teacher and ask for his own or if he should try and look at someone else's. The harsh glare Rejas had given the class for tittering a moment ago forced his hand. He couldn't risk an altercation this early in the day. A quick glance around confirmed his worst fear – the only one available to share was the one person he wanted nothing to do with – Travis Marks.

As if sensing Wes' despair, the dark-skinned hunk of a jerk turned his annoying smile his way. "Need something, Blondie?"

Wes shook his head, but he knew he needed to keep up, he was already two weeks behind everyone else due to this insane move. "Can we share," he inquired quietly, waving a hand at the other boy's book.

That grin, that I'm-going-to-chew-you-up-and-spit-you-out _smirk_, creased his face again. "Oh, you'd better believe we're gonna share."

"Marks, is there a problem over there?" Rejas was not in the mood, it was obvious, but Travis couldn't count all the damns he didn't give.

"No, man, no problems here. Just sharin' my book with Blondie." The ever-present smirk turned saccharine sweet.

"Wes," he begged under his breath. "Please, it's _Wes_."

"I know your name," he whispered back, once the teacher had turned away from them again. "I just like Blondie so much better. Hmm, or maybe Buttercup. Yes, I like that, too. Buttercup. Fragile, delicate little yellow flowers. Fitting."

_God, kill me now_, Wes begged, but he knew resistance was futile, those blue-grey eyes had sucker punched him, hard. He would be assimilated. Drawn in and eaten alive. Like it or not.

He was terrified that he just might like it.

Mitchell bolted from his desk approximately four and a half seconds after Rejas had stopped lecturing and passed out their daily homework assignment. It was obvious that Travis' brand of teasing humor was not the boy's style at all. Every time Travis had leaned into him, gotten closer, he'd immediately put more space between them. He was relatively certain it was due only to Blondie's insecurity at being the new boy because, who could resist all this? Seriously.

Ripping a piece of paper out of his binder, Travis quickly scratched a few words onto it before folding it neatly. Glancing around to secure Wes' position, he bent over towards his own backpack. Finding New Boy's messenger bag gaping open, he withdrew the first book he saw just far enough to slip the note in between the pages. Smirking, he nudged the book back inside, rearranging it to look as close to how it had before he invaded it.

Knowing that Mitchell was not going to be easily wooed, Travis figured he had to start somewhere, and this was as good as any. Now, with his first move made, all he could do was sit back and wait. And watch.

_Let the games begin,_ he thought giddily.

"Hey Sunshine," Travis called, spotting Wes hurriedly making his way down the hall. "Wait up."

Wes pretended not to hear, focusing on moving forward and getting to his next class. He felt a tug at his sleeve and looked up into the most amazing eyes. "What now? Did you not get enough jabs in at me in class?" He moved to the side of the hall, trying not to get trampled while Marks hit him with whatever he hadn't had time to give him earlier. Wes steeled himself for the worst. He'd hoped that it would be more than half a day before the bullying began, but he supposed he wasn't going to be as lucky this time.

Travis cocked his head, studying the blonde. "I wasn't being mean, man, I was just teasing. It's my way of being friendly." He held both hands out, palms up, in a conceding gesture.

"You might want to rethink your approach," Wes muttered darkly. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah, I didn't get to properly introduce myself, so here I am. Travis Marks."

He stuck out a large hand in a peace offering. Wes stared at his long fingers, thought about piano keys and things that really shouldn't occur to him at this time of the morning, and hesitantly shook. "Wes Mitchell."

"So I heard. Where'd you transfer in from? Someplace without sun?" The thought occurred to him that he could always be a vampire, too. Travis wondered if he sparkled in the sunlight. He'd have to follow him outside and see.

Wes smiled despite himself. Travis had a jaunty way about him, a smooth gait and an easy manner that immediately made you feel like family. If you had the kind of family that insulted and teased each other nonstop, maybe. Those stunning blue eyes caught you and held you captive if you were foolish enough to look directly into them. And he had been that foolish. So very foolish, it seemed.

"Not quite, but close. The east coast, actually. There is sun there, or so it's been rumored." Not that he'd ever had a chance to see much of it while he was there.

Travis barked out a laugh. "Well, welcome to California, baby, you'll be tan in no time."

Wes doubted it. He was a bit too fair-skinned he'd found out. So much so that even the mention of sun caused his skin to redden. Travis seemed so excited by the prospect that he couldn't deny it. Especially when that boy smiled like he was right now. All swollen lips and white teeth. The kind of smile that made you hungry for… things.

"Maybe," he hedged.

"Where you headed now? Math? Choir?" _The parking lot for a quickie?_

"Choir? Really?" He pulled a face, mock disgust written all over it.

Travis shrugged, still smiling. "You never know," he teased.

"No, definitely not choir I'm…" he struggled to dig his schedule out of his pocket and glanced at it quickly. "I'm headed to English I guess."

"Awesome, I'm headed that way, too. C'mon."

Travis stepped into the flow of students moving down the hall, leaving Wes glued where he stood. Shoving his schedule back into his pocket, he dodged a pair of cheerleaders, trying to catch Travis' disappearing form. Picking his way through the stream of students, he got to take in all that was Travis Marks. Long, muscular legs that led up to a perfectly round backside. Narrow waist that segued into broad football-player shoulders. Chocolate colored hair shaved close to his head. Coffee and cream skin. The total package was enough to stop Wes' rabbiting heart in his chest.

A flash of blue eyes met his across the hall. "Are ya comin' or not, Buttercup? Cause if you are, you'd better hurry up." He tapped his non-existant watch.

"Yeah, I'm coming, Marks. Just keep your pants on." _Or not, the choice is yours. _

"Is that a challenge, baby, or are you just teasing me?"

Again with that smile, it was enough to make your knees give way. "It's just an expression, Travis for the love of… oh, just shut it, would you?" He could tell that even simple conversation with this Marks individual was going to be an adventure.

Wes reached Travis' side and was rewarded with a meaty arm slung across his shoulders. Warmth enveloped him and attacked his senses. "Oh, I could shut it, but where's the fun in that?"

Praying that Travis couldn't feel the racing of his heart, Wes admitted to himself, in a very tiny, quiet voice, that there absolutely wasn't any fun in it at all. Travis had a big mouth, but he also had a quick wit, the kind of wit that would test Wes and keep him on his toes. Seeing as he was a masochist at heart this thing, whatever _this thing_ was, that was blooming between them was only going to prove that to excess. If he was smart, he'd surrender now.

But if there was one thing Wes knew about himself, it was that he wasn't ever very smart when he needed to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Some mildly graphic violence is visited upon one of our boys in this chapter. I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry… it had to happen. 3

Nobody Knows

_Like a clown I put on a show, _

_the pain is real even if nobody knows_

_And I'm crying inside_

_And nobody knows it but me_

Homework had never been much of a challenge for him. Some would say he was a nerd, but he just figured he paid better attention than the rest, thus making the completion of assignments that much easier in the end. But whatever the real reason was, tonight his brain wasn't having any of this studying business. It had other, more important things in its queue.

With a sigh, he pulled his biology text back in front of him and forced himself to re-read the section on mitosis. On any other afternoon, he'd enjoy losing himself in the science of it, the illustrations, the technical terms, the learning and understanding as it all came clear. But not today because today had a pair of blue-grey eyes haunting his memory, disrupting his concentration, making rational thought damn near impossible.

Damn his brain anyway.

His previous therapist had warned him about bonding with the first friendly face he found, and he'd sworn to himself that he wasn't going to do that again, not after what had happened to him the last time with… No. Enough. There was nothing to be gained by rehashing the loss of the one person he almost dared call a friend. Wes forced those thoughts from his mind, focusing twice as intently on the series of illustrations leading him through the various phases of cell division.

What his therapist hadn't prepared him for, however, was being drawn in by the most arrogant, aggravating and annoying individual on the planet.

_Huh. Alliteration, _he thought with a quirk of the lips. _And I'm not even studying English yet. Score yourself five bonus points for that one, Mitchell._

Fact was, despite having the most alluring blue eyes he'd ever seen, the brightest smile anywhere, and a laugh that rang out like church bells, Travis Marks was a jerk. A beautiful, enticing, jerk, but a jerk just the same. He wasn't the kind of person Wes would seek out as a companion, ever, so why was he still on his mind?

Travis had Wes' emotions in a knot. Wes wasn't generally very emotional, he had learned long ago to contain all those unruly, unreasonable _feelings_ and channel them into something more productive. More appropriate. Like his schoolwork or laundry. Which was why he was having such a hard time reconciling his love/hate relationship with one Mr. Marks.

_Life Science in Your World!_ slipped from his desk and he let it fall, losing his place and scattering his notes across the carpet. It thumped heavily when it landed, the carpet muffling the sound. His frustration with himself could have burned a hole through the center of the enormous textbook. This sudden inability to concentrate was not acceptable. He had to force all inappropriate thoughts out of his head immediately and get back to studying. Pronto.

Instead of kicking the monstrous text across his room, as his first impulse demanded he do, he crossed his arms across the battered desk, dropping his head into the crook of a folded elbow. Desperation welled up within him, warring with the disgust his mind threw up in defense of his fragile, irrational emotions. It was always like this for him, however. That immediate urge to _act_ and _do_, that was always smacked down and beat up by that bitch called _reason_.

Reason and that ultimate consequence of _wait till your father gets home _that his mother was so fond of throwing at him whenever he even so much as thought about acting out. It made him feel like a frightened child, but those six words tended to instill more than a little fear in his weakling heart. In his defense, he'd had to raid his mother's makeup kit more than once to hide the errant bruises left after such threats had been carried out. On the bright side, he'd gotten rather good with a bottle of concealer and a triangular shaped sponge.

But that was neither here nor there, was it?

"Wesley!"

He angled his blonde head towards the sound of his mother's voice and groaned. _Mustn't get caught woolgathering, _he scolded himself sarcastically. Scrambling to grab his book and gather the scattered sheets of ruled notebook paper, she caught him on the floor, looking apologetic.

"Wesley, just what _are _you doing on the floor?" Her hands found a place on her rounded hips, that suspicious glare locked onto his guilty conscience.

"I – I knocked my notebook off the edge, Mother. Sorry. I'm cleaning it up now." _Please, please, please just let it go. Clumsy, clumsy idiot boy… _

Her eyes narrowed, assessing him and the situation. "See that you do. Your father will be home soon and dinner is at six on the dot."

The threat was left unspoken. The one that said, "And if you're even a minute late, you'll go without." It wasn't a threat he took lightly, either. He may be lanky, but he preferred eating to going hungry.

"Yes, ma'am." He tried to look contrite. He was pretty certain he failed.

She watched him closely for another minute before backing out and closing the door behind her. With a whoosh of pent up breath, Wes gathered his fallen homework and settled it into some semblance of order. Lifting his book off the floor, he spied a piece of paper sticking out from between the pages near the back. Curious, he tugged at it.

Unsure of where it had come from – maybe it'd been in the book when he'd been given it today? – he unfolded it carefully and stared at the unfamiliar writing inside. His eyes widened in shock briefly, before narrowing in suspicion.

_I see you there, buttercup, with your quiet self and those big, blue come love me eyes._

_If you're lucky, I just might._

Well, hells bells, what was that supposed to mean? And where on earth had it come from? It seemed like it had to be directed at him, what with the reference to the blue eyes, but he was unsure. Curious, too.

With a second glance at the note, he figured he'd find out sooner or later. He stuffed it into the top drawer of his desk, the broken one only he knew how to finagle open, just in case. Couldn't have anyone accidentally coming across something as incriminating at _that_. Either way, he figured it wouldn't be long before he knew for sure.

_Please let it be sooner, _he begged. _If I'm going to get my ass kicked again, I'd prefer to just get it over with._

Dinner was a solemn occasion in the Mitchell household, overseen by the reticent and just plain unfriendly Marlin 'I have no middle name' Mitchell. Wes had long ago learned to arrive three minutes early, set the silverware in its true and proper places, and then place himself in his seat, zipping his lips shut for the duration.

He'd just finished placing the last fork, making certain it was parallel to the edge of the plate and aligned perfectly with the base of the knife and spoon on the opposite side of the plate, when his father surged through the front door. He was late, which was a rarity. It also didn't bode well for the meal that was about to follow. The obligatory evening repast was not going to be a pleasant experience tonight. Cringing inwardly, he hoped for the best and prepared for the worst.

Marlin Mitchell _detested _being late. He prided himself on running his business ventures – and by extension, his family – like a well-oiled machine. Each gear in place, every cog in working order. And there would be hell to pay for any person who dared interfere with his schedule. Tonight, it seemed, there was a lot of hell to be accounted for, if the look on his father's face was any indication.

"Marilyn," he bellowed, looking around for his errant wife.

Wes' mother poked her perfectly coiffed blonde head out of the kitchen, smiling. "Well there you are, Marlin. I was beginning to worry. You really should call if you're going to be late like this. You can't keep your family waiting for dinner, dear. Wesley might faint away from hunger."

He couldn't keep himself from wincing at his mother's words. She knew better and yet, she still insisted on chastising him. Often, he felt she had a death wish cleverly concealed within her motherly demeanor. Personally, Wes thought that simple insanity might be a more logical conclusion. It would certainly explain a few things.

The angry glare on Marlin Mitchell's face morphed from mildy put out to full on rage in six-point-two seconds. "Marilyn? What have I told you about speaking to me this way?"

Marilyn's pale features blanched even further as understanding dawned on her. It was never okay to joke with her husband, nor was it ever, ever appropriate to reprimand him. He'd reminded her in so many ways that he absolutely did not have a sense of humor, but she failed to believe him. _How can you not have a sense of humor, everybody has a sense of humor, Marlin… _Her heart was too big to believe that she'd married a pitiless man. He stepped towards her and she stepped back. Instinct kicking into overdrive.

"I'm so-sorry, Marlin. I was just…" She faltered, voice lost to the threat.

"Just what?" He stepped closer.

Wes focused on the immaculately polished silver resting on the table beneath his fingers, desperate to block out the inevitable. Maybe if he pretended he was somewhere else, didn't make eye contact, stayed as quiet as humanly possible… maybe they'd forget he was even there. Maybe tonight, he'd be safe. So many maybes.

And then his mother opened her stupid, untrustworthy mouth. _Again._

"I was just making a joke, honey." She smoothed the skirt of her dress against her legs, tried to smile, grimaced instead.

Such idiotic, careless words.

He'd been accused of being slow. Like a sloth, lazy and dawdling, but at moments like these, moments when his father had his meat hook in the air, shaking it at his frail, innocent mother, Wes surprised even himself. That he could get between that angry fist and her poor, shocked face in the hairsbreadth before the shadow fell against her skin was a miracle. A miracle for her, anyway. For him, not so much.

Trying so hard not to fall into his mother, attempting not to topple her to the ground, riding the force of his father's assault to the ground, he fell, landed, and came to rest, motionless. Warmth spread across his face, followed quickly by the burning sting of pain.

"Impudent, worthless boy," he heard moments before the size eleven dress shoe connected with his side.

_That's going to leave a mark_, he thought idly before being sucked into a vortex of darkness.

A pair of blue-grey eyes following him into the shelter of oblivion.

Blue eyes morphed into an entire face. Round cheeks, full lips, strong chin, ears that stuck out just a bit more than they should from the sides of his head. A nose, a nose in there somewhere. That voice, calling his name. Christening him with silly little endearments. Meaningless words that made his heart skip a beat.

Fleeting images passed behind his eyelids in quick succession. His mother's concerned face, his father's unrelenting, angry countenance. The cat he'd had for just a few weeks before his father had found out and taken her back to the pound. A myriad of kids he'd attended school with over the years. Invitations to parties he wasn't allowed to attend. Travis.

_Travis._

Why was he here, now? Was he hell bent on haunting his every thought? They barely knew one another, there wasn't a single reason he should be here in Wes' thoughts, not at a time like this.

_He was kind to me. Sort of. In his own, deranged way. _

A wave of nausea passed over Wes. Intense pain followed quickly on its heels, causing havoc within him. He wanted to curl into a ball, to craw away from the pain, the anger, all of it, but it hurt too much to move. He believed that if he would just stop breathing, stop fighting, stop caring, it'd end. All the agony, all the disappointment, all the hate.

_Ride it out, it'll pass. Just as soon as he gets bored with your limp body. He hates it when you don't respond, when he can't make you cry. He hates not being the center of attention every second of every minute of every hour of every day. More than anything, he hates it when no one's afraid of him. When he's unable to be the top dog, leader of the pack. _

Another sharp pain echoed through his body. It hadn't taken long for it to start again, this time. He should have known, should have been more aware. But he had been distracted. Preoccupied like a lovesick little girl, fawning over the class clown. He was so, so stupid to think…

_He's yelling at her now, _he thought. _Focusing on her and not me. Please don't hurt her, please. Mother means well, Father. She… _

Wes didn't remember crying, or screaming. He couldn't recall begging, either. He didn't remember any of it, just the lingering pain that always followed his father's perpetual rage.

_Just ride it out, Wes… _


	3. Chapter 3

3 – Used to the Pain

_I'd like to believe in the healing hands of time__  
__But the truth is I really can't say if__  
__I'm getting better or just used to the pain._

_Another day, another black eye_, he thought bitterly. If only his mother would learn to not antagonize his father, unintentionally or otherwise. But he couldn't blame his mother, not really. Her heart was in the right place, usually. How was it her fault that her attempts at making peace always backfired? He couldn't hold her accountable for his father's lack of compassion.

Wes reached into his secret stash of pilfered makeup. He was lucky that he and his mother shared the same Casper the Friendly Ghost complexion, so it was easy to hijack a half-empty bottle here and there without raising alarm. As he dug through the assorted bottles looking for the concealer, weariness settled over him. How many times had he stood like this, hurting and lost, staring into one mirror or another, looking at that same, battered face? Hating it, the bruises, and himself?

"Fuck it," he muttered, shocking his inner censor with his choice of epithets.

Roughly, he shoved the bottles littering his bathroom sink back into the bag he'd pulled them out of. It just wasn't worth it, so why should he bother? It was only a matter of time before his father lost his temper yet again, lost his job, and forced them all to move on the fly. Rinse and repeat.

He was done with pretending, done with trying to appear like his home life was normal, happy, loving. Wes was tired, plain and simple. Who cared if the kids surrounding him saw the purplish discoloration ringing his left eye? Or the Dr. Frankenstein-like stitches dotting his lower lip, courtesy of his mother's trembling hand? What would they say that he hadn't heard a hundred times before? It wasn't like there was anything they could do, honestly. Truth be told, he'd looked worse. He'd taken worse beatings, the most recent of which being the cause for their sudden move to southern California.

There was no amount of makeup that could hide the truth. Eventually someone would figure it out and the police would come, or a social worker. They'd play the perfect family, laughing at the accusations leveled at his father. 'Dad' would playfully rub his head, acting the part to the fullest, fooling everyone but his ill-treated family. The same old song and dance, again and again.

Wesley Mitchell was done hiding, finished playing dangerous games. Pretending had gotten him exactly nowhere. Maybe honesty was a better road to follow?

"_Dude_. Who'd you piss off? The Hulk?"

Wes looked up from his health homework and into the swirling depths of Travis Marks' slate-colored eyes. He looked away quickly, afraid to get drawn in again. Terrified to start wanting what he couldn't have. Emotions weren't safe, they were weak. They caused you to make stupid mistakes, like confessing the horrors of your home life during a lull in second period. "It's nothing." _Nothing that anyone can stop anyway._

Sinking heavily into his seat, Travis leaned over, touching the tips of his fingers to Wes' jaw. "Don't look like 'nothing' to me, man. You get in a fight?" He turned the blonde's face side to side, assessing the damage done. Cataloguing the injuries. _Black eye, split lip. _

Shrugging, Wes struggled for nonchalance. "Something like that, it's not important."

"The hell it isn't. Did you start it? Wait, did someone jump your preppy ass? Do I need to go beat some punk down?" Travis had leaned forward, invading Wes' space, searching for answers.

Wes retreated as far as the confines of his desk would allow. "I don't need you to defend me, stand up for me or protect my honor, okay? I said it wasn't important and it's not. Let it go."

Travis sat back into his chair, studying the injured boy beside him. _Protect his honor, indeed. _There was something in the way he held himself, the deflection of his concern, that led him to believe that Wes wasn't telling him the whole story, that it was much more than 'just a fight'. That much was obvious to anyone who paid even the tiniest bit of attention to this lost soul. What Travis wanted to know, needed to know, was _why was Wes blaming himself for whatever it was_? How was such a straight laced kid responsible for the obvious beat down he took?

Self-hatred was plastered all over blondie's manner, from the way he refused to meet Travis' eyes to the way he deemphasized his injuries. Defensive posture, self-deprecating dialogue, deflecting. Classic signs of abuse were everywhere if you knew how to look. Travis knew. "You can tell me, you know."

A flicker of blue eyes under golden lashes, followed quickly by a frustrated sigh. "I don't want to talk about this. Or to you. Especially not _to you_ about _this_. Understand? Can we just… let it go, please?"

The 'pretend like I don't look like I've just gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson' was left unspoken. But Travis knew it was there. He'd been down that road once or twice, back in the days when that one foster mom refused to believe her precious son-by-birth could ever be responsible for the random, unexplainable bruises that were appearing more and more regularly on her temporary charges. "Okay, buttercup, I'll leave you alone for now. But, you change your mind and…"

"Travis, I won't." He was firm, voice steady. He almost had himself convinced. The thought of letting go and just _telling someone_… it was a temptation too good to resist. But it was also a trap. He'd learned that one the hard way. _Maybe things could be different here in California? No… _

Travis held up his hands, signaling a temporary surrender. "All right, but the offer remains open, use it or not."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ It seemed that this latest beating had addled his brain. How could he even think he could get away with not covering up his father's handiwork? Maybe he could get home, sneak into his room, and repair the damage before anyone noticed. Maybe.

But Travis had noticed, hadn't he? Wes had a sinking feeling that his new classmate was not going to let this go, no matter how much he begged. Marks played the fool, but he was much more observant than he let on. He'd proved that in spades earlier today.

On the other hand, it had felt good when he offered to personally thrash whoever was responsible for his injuries. So. _Damn._ Good. It'd taken every ounce of self-control to keep from melting into a puddle at Marks' feet. There wasn't anything to be gained by going down _that _alley for sure. If he thought the beating he got last night was bad, it'd pale in comparison to the one his father would dole out upon hearing he was falling for another boy. Not a pretty thought.

But still. Travis had _offered. _How'd that saying go? _It was the thought that counted_.

Wes had managed to keep _that_ secret from everyone so far, not that he'd ever really had any friends to confess something so serious and personal to. The fewer people that knew about his inadvertent crushes on his male schoolmates, the better, he figured. If there were no witnesses, did it really happen? It helped that he never got close enough to anyone for his latent _attraction issues_ to become a problem.

Until now.

Until meeting the irritating, aggravating, obnoxious, and so gosh-freaking-darn-sexy-that-it-hurt Travis Marks. Travis had thrown everything into chaos and it hadn't taken him more than five minutes and one toothy smile to do it in. A heart breaking world record.

Despite the way he annoyed Wes with his constant teasing and overly put-on bravado, Travis was intrinsically charming. And well, if he was honest with himself, a bit funny, too. He was a hormonal accident waiting to happen, and Wes had to steer clear. No matter how handsome or amiable he might be, Wes absolutely, positively could not fall in love with this boy without boundaries.

And yet… thoughts of that very same boy continually crossed his mind. In class. While studying. At dinner. _Dear god, did they ever keep him occupied during meals… _

Wes was screwed. So very, very screwed.

_If I'm going down, _he thought warily, _you're going with me, pal._

If asked, he'd deny it, emphatically. But here, alone in his room, looking out the window at a cinder block wall, Travis couldn't refute it. The boy had gotten under his skin in a serious way. He didn't know how or why, but he needed to get Wes to come clean about his situation, ASAP, before he did something utterly stupid – like kissing that badly stitched lower lip until it was _all better_. And then kissing it again, for good measure.

Because that was just what Wes Mitchell needed, right? A good and thorough kissing, to cure what ailed him.

His math homework called to him, but he ignored it. He'd long since given up trying to concentrate today. After seeing the state of Wes' face this morning, he'd been unable to think of little else. Travis couldn't think of anyone in the school that would have singled him out so quickly for a beat down. Yeah, he could be a conceited, know-it-all prick, but he was also rather good at becoming invisible when he needed to. Unassuming, he thought the word was. Smiling, he thought he'd ask blondie about that tomorrow.

He needed answers and he needed them fast. Travis also knew that this wasn't going to be easy. Blondie's lips were sealed tighter than that fine ass of his was… which was pretty tight, from what he could discern. He welcomed the challenge, however. Wes had issues, that much was obvious, but somewhere underneath that tightly-wound exterior, there was a desperate boy waiting to get out. Looking for an escape route.

Travis could help him.

Travis _had _to help him.

He had no idea _why, _just that he needed to save Wes from himself and soon. Help the boy first, sort out the reasons why later. Much later. Preferably while curled up beside his pale, preppy self, drowsing in the afternoon sun.

He just knew that Wes didn't deserve the beating he'd taken. No one deserved that sort of treatment, no matter how much of a tight ass they were on occasion.

His attention wandered back to his abandoned math book. Travis sighed, flashing that patented panty dropping smile he was known for and apologized to the empty room around him. "Sorry algebra II, it's over. It's not you, it's me. So, I'll see ya around, right?"

Tossing the book from his desk to the vicinity of his backpack resting on his bed, he left his room – and his schoolwork – to their own devices. He had more pressing things on his mind right now.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm About to Come Alive

_Maybe I'm not but you're all I got left to believe in  
Don't give up on me  
I'm about to come alive  
And I know that it's been hard  
And it's been a long time coming  
Don't give up on me  
I'm about to come alive_

Days passed and Wes gradually began to relax. It seemed like Travis had decided to drop the subject of his mysterious black eye. For now, at least. He'd come to understand over the last week that Travis never let anything go completely. There was one kid, a brunette underclassman like Wes that he ritually teased about something that had occurred several years ago. Taking that to heart, Wes had begun to concoct a story for Travis' sake, should he be so brazen as to bring it up again.

Until then, he'd bide his time and relish the quiet from the menace residing in the seat beside him.

"Hey blondie," Marks called in greeting, dropping in beside Wes.

His grin was broad and blinding this morning, he must be up to something. That seemed to be his game strategy. Play it cool and loose, warm and friendly before striking at the unaware. _Beautiful and deadly, just like a snake_, Wes thought uncomfortably. "Hey, Marks."

Wes desperately wanted to find a degrading nickname for Travis, but so far he'd come up empty. Everything that came to mind would only be cannon fodder for Marks and his twisted mind. He'd make each and every jab into a joke or sexual innuendo and that was the last thing Wes needed right now. He was having a hard enough time keeping himself from turning them all into the basis of a late night fantasy.

Phrases like _mocha latte_ and _sweet brown sugar_ rattled around in his brain, disrupting his thoughts and egging his already beleaguered libido on. Wes shifted in his seat, trying to chase away the images those words conjured up. He was doing a piss poor job of it apparently because _Mr. Tall, Dark, and Chocolate_ had focused his eager gaze on him yet again, that damn seductive smile sapping every ounce of willpower from Wes' depleted tank.

"Can I help you, Travis?" _Play it cool, Mitchell. Don't let him smell your fear… or your arousal. _

The grin broke as Travis opened his mouth to speak. Something surly and teasing was sure to come out, Wes knew, but by the grace of whoever was watching today, he was saved by the bell. That abrasive, ear splitting clatter drew a temporary frown from Travis, but didn't throw him completely off, either.

"Later, sunshine. Later." It sounded more like a threat than a promise.

"Okay, class," Mr. Rejas began, looking around him while doing a quick head count. "Today we are going to be assigning partners for this quarter's project. Our theme this go round is drugs." Muffled cheers and jokes flooded from all over the class leading Rejas to shake his head. "Not like that, class, sorry to disappoint. But more on the effects of short and long term use."

The class gave mock groans and began looking around the room, making quick alliances for the upcoming boring project. Rejas watched for a bit before interrupting with even more bad news. "Now that you've made your little groups, I'm going to burst your bubbles and pair you up myself. Adams and Wright, you've got barbiturates. McDonald and Davis, I'm giving you antidepressants."

Wes groaned inwardly, praying that he wouldn't get stuck with anyone _but _Travis. Preferably a girl, because maybe then, just maybe, he could do the project as directed. There was no way his father was letting him spend time alone with another boy. Not even for a school project. It'd be hard enough to convince his parents to let him out to study with a girl.

"Mitchell and Marks, since you two seem so overly _fond _of each other, I'm giving you hallucinogens." Rejas sneered at the boys, begging for some kind of negative feedback. "Rollins and Brooks…"

Rejas continued on, but Wes didn't hear another word. He was too busy crawling within himself, trying not to burst into tears borne of fear. Fear of his father, fear of failing the class, fear of what Travis would say or do when he found out he couldn't be his partner.

_It'd finally wipe that maddening smirk off his face,_ Wes bet, _to find out just how screwed up my family is_.

Travis watched the disappointment wash across his newly named partner's face. Was he really that bad of a guy to be partnered up with? Or was there something more bothering him? He didn't know – yet – but he would before too long. Although he hadn't shown up with any more black eyes or visible bruises, Wes was still quiet and withdrawn. Too quiet and withdrawn for Travis' tastes, no normal kid should be so wrapped up in himself like that. He'd seen a glimmer of the boy behind the mask that first day, but it'd vanished with the appearance of that black eye. Hopefully not forever.

His first instinct was to corner blondie and make him confess, but he figured that would backfire spectacularly. It went against his nature to do so, but Travis made himself wait. Wait, watch, and make a plan. Because how could Wes resist him when he turned the charm up to eleven?

_Hah._ Just let him try.

It'd taken some effort, but Wes had managed to secure himself a secluded spot out on the side lawn of the school, near his fourth period math class. No one ever came out this way during lunch, so it was quiet enough for him to regroup before going back for the second half of his day. No gossiping girls, no rowdy jocks, and most importantly, no Travis Marks.

"Dude."

_Aw, crap, he found me. _"Travis? What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you, what the hell does it look like, sunshine?"

Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten, unsuccessfully trying to calm himself somewhat. "Okay, better question. Why are you looking for me?"

"Because I miss that adorable dimple of yours?" That scandalous smile seemed to have an infinite power source considering the way Travis used it at will.

Wes frowned despite the galloping of his heart. "Seriously, Travis?" One hand sneaked its way to surreptitiously cover the offending defect of birth.

"Okay man, okay. Not really, although that dimple is ah-dor-ah-buhl!" Travis scanned the area fleetingly before settling on the spot right beside Wes to park himself. "I wanted to hit you up about how we were going to do this thing."

"Thing?" He scooted marginally to the right, feeling a bit too close to his exuberant lunch partner.

"Yeah, you know, the project?"

He barely stifled a groan. _That, of course_. "Look, Travis, I have to confess, I…"

"Would love to do all the work and let me put my name on it? Why thank you, Wes, that's just so generous of you, but I'll have to decline."

_Too bad as that'd actually be the greatest thing ever._ Biting his lip to keep his opinion to himself, he waited.

Travis leaned in, confidentially. "See, thing is, Rejas doesn't trust me and well, he's accused me of cheating before. I didn't, I swear, but still. I have to keep this as on the up and up as I can. It's probably why he paired me with you. He knows you won't let me get away with any funny stuff."

He wasn't sure if it was within the laws of physics for Travis Marks to operate without pulling some kind of funny stuff, but that was a dilemma for later. "Seriously, Travis, I don't know how…"

Wes cringed inwardly at the apprehension in his voice. He prayed it wasn't as apparent to Travis as it was to him – Marks was much too sharp for his own good sometimes.

Travis lifted an eyebrow. "How what?"

"Look, I don't even know why I'm saying this but, well, my parents are ultra-conservative and don't like me to spend a lot of unsupervised time with kids they don't know. I'll… I'll have to do my half of the research on my own and we can put the whole project together somehow. We can figure that out closer to the due date."

The corners of that perfectly pouty mouth turned down a fraction in thought. "Not even for a required school project? Don't they want you to do good?"

This was not what he'd expected, he'd been both respectful and honest, a first. "Yes, they do want me to do my best – demand it, actually – but they're very _strict_ when it comes to how and when I spend my free time. It's hard to explain. I'm sorry, really. Maybe you can ask Mr. Rejas for a new partner?"

Travis lifted his eyes to meet Wes', boring into him, assessing. Wes was certain he could smell the bullshit before it ever left his mouth. Marks really was trying to find a workable solution, making it even harder to twist the truth and find an escape route. He knew he'd never been a very good liar, his father often told him just that, but what choice did he have here? How could he blurt out the fact that the family patriarch strove to maintain absolute control of every detail and ruled with a literal iron fist?

"I like you, Goldilocks, I want you to be my partner. Besides, you're smart. How could I ask for anything better?"

The compliments hit Wes hard. No one had ever wanted him to be their anything. Even with knowing it was very likely that this jerk was teasing him, he couldn't deny the flutter deep in his gut. He had it bad and that was not good. "Trav," he said softly, "you'll fail because of me. Don't do this."

A dark-skinned hand reached out and settled sympathetically on the other boy's knee. "I won't fail and neither will you. We'll figure it out somehow, even if we have to spend every lunch hour in the library. Got it?"

Sighing, his shoulders relaxed a touch, knowing that that might be their only option. "Got it," he conceded.

"Good. Now, let's go get some lunch. Gotta feed this good-lookin' machine." He grinned, slapping a hand against his chest.

Wes paled. _How do I get out of this one, God?_ He didn't have a lunch because his father was in yet another of his moods this morning, causing Wes to high-tail it out of the house as soon as humanly possible. Going without lunch was easier than dealing with that man when he was in a snit. Nor did he have a penny to his name since his parents were of the opinion he needed no money of his own, believing they'd provide him with whatever he could possibly need. _As if. _

"How about tomorrow? I – I uh, forgot my lunch I think." _Smooth, Mitchell. You're such a spaz, I swear._

Cloudy blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. Wes could see the wheels turning in Travis' head, trying to decide if it was a lack of food or something more nefarious that had kept him from having a lunch today. For some reason, he let it go, and Wes was thankful.

"How about I spring for something today and you can bring me a PB&J tomorrow?"

He stalled. What was the right answer here? He could easily sneak an extra sandwich and, if he got caught, say he didn't have time for breakfast, but… But was it worth anyone finding out the truth?

From what he knew of Travis, he wasn't about to be given a choice. "C'mon, get up. I'm starving. Let's go eat."

Decision made, Travis stood and held a hand out to the blonde still seated in the grass at his feet. Hesitating for a moment, Wes reached out tentatively and took the proffered hand in his own. A firm grip and warm palm met his and with a tug, he was on his feet. Face to face and almost chest to chest with his biggest nightmare ever.

The kind of man who could make him throw caution to the wind. Or make him rush headlong into oblivion without so much as a second thought.

He was, in a word, trouble. Nine kinds of get-your-ass-beat-and-not-even-phase-you kind of trouble.

_Bring it on, _he thought. Wes was _so _game.

"Wesley, we've discussed these kinds of matters before. You know you are not allowed to engage in any sort of after school activities with unapproved friends." His mother wiped her delicate hands on a worn dish towel.

"I understand, but…"

"No buts. You'll have to convince your teacher to let you work alone." The dish towel dropped carelessly to the countertop.

"But what if…" As much of a pain in the ass as Travis was, Wes did not want him to fail because of his _situation_.

"No buts. One more word on this subject and you can take it up with your father. Understand?" Wes nodded, unable to speak. "Good. Prepare the table for dinner, your father will be home momentarily."

_Great. _

"Can I help you?" Mr. Rejas raised one eyebrow as Wes approached his desk minutes before the bell.

"Yes, actually, you can, I hope…"

"Is this about the project?"

Wes nodded. "Yes, sir, I was wondering if…"

"No." Rejas turned from Wes and began rummaging through the stack of papers on his desk.

"I'm – I'm sorry, what?"

Rejas looked up, meeting Wes' confused gaze. "I said no. No swapping topics and definitely no swapping partners. You are stuck with Marks for the duration of this project."

Wes paled, his stomach sinking as he attempted to tamp down on the panic rising inside. "No, that's not what I meant, I'm okay with Travis but there's a…."

"I said 'no', Mitchell. You really want to push this?" Rejas' dark eyes bore into his own, daring him to say one more word.

"No sir," he said quietly, looking at his hands. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

He raised both eyebrows this time. "Are we done then?"

Nodding, he slunk back to his seat, sitting heavily. This was not good. Not good at all. What was he going to do now? Travis was going to fail the assignment – and because of it, most likely the class – all because of him. Because of Wesley Mitchell and his freaking father's insane, unfounded homophobia.

Once Travis failed, he was going to hate him. Stop speaking to him, stop teasing him, stop being… just there. It was more than Wes could stand.

He had to tell Travis, now, while there was still time for him to salvage his own grade, even if it meant destroying this shaky friendship they'd constructed. _It was only right. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: This chapter depicts a bit of crazed drug use... so hopefully it's still more lighthearted than awful. Besides, who can honestly resisted a rather stoned Wes Mitchell? Not this girl. _

5 – Felt Good on My Lips

_She ordered us a drink  
It was a purple kind of pink  
She said it's got a shot of a little bit of everything  
Mello yellow umbrella for a fella like me  
It was just a bit mellow for me to be seen with  
But I took a sip  
Yeah it felt good on my lips_

Wes looked up from the encyclopedia open in front of him to find Travis' eyes fixed on him. He figured he ought to be used to this by now, after these last eight lunches spent in the library, but it never failed to weird him out just a little to find the other boy watching him like he was now.

"Can I help you, Marks?" He kept his voice low but still got the side-eye from the librarian.

"Yeah, I was just thinking that this isn't working. I mean, I know we're getting the information we need, but I just can't work like this."

"You mean you can't keep quiet for this long," Wes teased, loving the way that Travis' cheeks flushed just slightly at the accusation.

"Okay man, ya got me. So what do you say we meet up at my place this afternoon?"

Wes hesitated. His mother had left two nights ago for parts unknown – off to visit her sister, she'd said. How she'd pulled that one off, he didn't know. Neither he nor his mother had ever been allowed outside the immediate grasp of the head of their household for as long as he could remember. However, for some unknown reason, this time his father had acquiesced and his mother had flown the coop.

In the two nights since she'd vacated the family home, his father hadn't bothered to make it home for dinner. Last night, he hadn't even made it home by the time Wes had finally given up and crawled into bed at ten past eleven. Wes was tempted.

"I don't know…"

"Aw, c'mon, you can get out for one afternoon, can't you?" His eyes pleaded as much as his voice.

"I'm not sure. Travis, my father, he… he's not very understanding and breaking his rules is not an option. But…" He slammed his lips closed, trying to hide his faux pas.

Travis' eyes widened slightly, nostrils flaring. "But?" Hopefulness filled the word to bursting.

Wes sighed. "_But_, my mother is out of town currently."

"Annnnd?" Just the way he drew out the word was sexy. Enticing.

He sighed again, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "_And _my father is coming home later and later. Missing dinner. That kind of thing."

Two dark eyebrows reached for the sky. "He's having an affair?" It was half question, half lurid statement.

"Ew. I do not know nor will I ever ask, Travis."

A snicker drifted up and met his ears. "Is that a yes, Mitchell?"

Perfect pink lips pursed in a frown meant to dissuade any further argument. Wes couldn't tell him no, not when this was probably his only chance to experience the kind of life all the other kids had. He saw the chance and he took it. His head was nodding before the words escaped his mouth. "Yeah, sure."

"Awesome. Meet me out by the parking lot after school. Don't be late." Travis picked up his notebook and not bothering to stuff it into his backpack, left the library with a wave.

A pair of curious blue eyes followed him all the way to the glass doors. Wes wasn't sure if what he'd just agreed to was daring or stupid, but he intended to see it through. If his father found out, he'd kill him. But at least Wes was going to enjoy himself for a change.

The blonde stood on the sidewalk, basking in the pure, unadulterated California sun. The warmth felt good, a slight tingle rising along his neck and arms in response. Travis wasn't anywhere to be seen. Wes was seven seconds away from giving up and heading towards the bus to go home when a rumble caught his attention. Looking out into the vast sea of cars and trucks, he watched in awe as Marks pulled to the curb on a gleaming black crotch rocket.

"What on earth? Don't you own a car like a normal person?" He was appalled and curious at the same time. _How close will I have to be so I don't fall off the back of this thing?_

"Can't afford a car," he confessed. "Besides, the girls love a man on a bike."

_Great._ "So, uh, how am I going to get to your place?"

White teeth, spread in a brilliant display was his answer. "Hop on back, buttercup."

Of course. _Dear God, why do you hate me so much? _Seeing no other alternative, Wes closed his eyes, counted to ten, and swung a leg over the seat, settling himself in behind Travis.

"You good?" Wes nodded. "Great, hold on."

Travis pulled away from the curb, jolting his passenger and causing a knee jerk reaction in Wes, triggering the need to grab the nearest solid object. As tightly as possible.

Two fists grasped Marks' shirt in desperation.

"Wrap your arms around my waist," he shouted back at his passenger.

"What?"

They slowed as they came to the parking lot exit. Travis turned his head back to look at the frightened expression on Wes' face. "Wrap your arms around my waist so you don't fall the hell off, man. I figured that much was obvious."

"But…"

"But nothing. Grab on or fall off. Your choice."

The car ahead of him pulled out onto the street. Travis followed, goosing the gas a bit more than necessary to make his point. A pair of very pale arms tightly enfolded Travis' midsection, garnering a grin out of the driver. "That's my boy," he chuckled, unheard over the roar of the engine, "hold on tight, I won't let you fall."

His body jerked backwards suddenly, Travis' forward momentum almost taking him off the back of the bike. Frantic, Wes scrambled for purchase on the slippery t-shirt under his fingers. Re-securing himself, he leaned forward, into the safety of the bigger man's broad back. The warmth rising from Travis' skin was soothing, a refreshing contrast to the cool wind whipping into his face. _I should be wearing a helmet, _he thought idly, the words seeming to blow in one ear and straight out the other.

Wes inhaled, a nose full of Travis' scent tickling his senses, so uniquely him, indescribable, and yet, recognizable in an instant. He'd been told to hold on and tightly. Taking advantage of his order, knowing the duration of their ride to Travis' home would be a short one, he gave in to the urge to _squeeze_ and held the maddening driver as close as he could, questing fingertips gripping and caressing solid abs.

_Oh god… _

As wrong as he knew it was, he couldn't stop himself from enjoying the feel of Marks' body against his, the smell of his body wash, the rumble of the bike between his legs. This closeness was effecting a change in him, making him restless and needy. Needing things he knew he couldn't have. Not now, not ever.

But in this moment, for these few seconds, he could enjoy… _revel_… in the feel of another man's body in his arms.

As he suspected, the ride was over sooner than he'd hoped. Travis steered the metal monstrosity into the drive of a modest yellow home. The rumbling engine quieted, ticked, settled.

Travis steadied the bike and looked over his shoulder. "Here we are, baby. Home sweet home."

The expression had always seemed odd to Wes because not once in his life had his home ever been anything akin to 'sweet'. But he took it on faith that Travis' world was different. He was banking on it. With a nod to his driver, Wes untangled himself from Marks' body and managed to keep his feet under him while getting off the bike. The older boy followed and led Wes into the garage, guiding him into the house.

Inside, the kitchen was quiet. Wes looked around, spying knickknacks on the walls and clean dishes piled in the sink. "Where's your mom, Trav?"

Travis looked up from tossing his keys onto the counter. "Work. She's a nurse down at the hospital and works twelve hour shifts. She'll be home sometime after eight."

It all made sense now, how he got away with the things that he did, why no one seemed to ever corral his overeager self. Wes followed him farther into the kitchen, accepting a soda when it was handed to him. Taking one for himself as well, Travis inclined his head towards the hallway. "C'mon, my room's back this way."

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, Wes nodded and followed.

Unsure of what time it was, he was certain at least an hour had passed since they'd thrown themselves upon the mercy of their mutual homework, if the crick in his neck was any indication. Wes rubbed the back of his neck while surreptitiously watching Travis from beneath his lashes. He was physical perfection. Strong back, broad shoulders, angelic face. And those eyes, those soul-stealing blue eyes that enveloped you and sucked you into their grasp.

"Blondie? Ya in there?" Travis was grinning at him, watching him much too closely.

_Damn._ He'd been woolgathering again, daydreaming about Travis' damn eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Sorry. Just thinking."

An eyebrow lifted in question. "About?"

Wes opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say. "Uhh, about… our project. I'm amazed at how inventive people can be when it comes to making supposedly innocent items into mood-altering substances."

"Really." He sounded sarcastic, but his eyes were fixed completely on the young blonde sprawled across his bed. "Like what?"

"Like…" Wes hedged, flipping through the book he had out. "Cactus, for one. Did you have any idea?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "actually that one I did know."

Wes sat up. "You did? How?"

That damn grin again. "One of my foster brothers makes it."

"It?" Wes was one part confused, one part curious.

"Mescaline. It tastes nasty as hell but man, do you ever fly on that shit."

He blinked. Was he hearing this correctly? Travis' foster brother was manufacturing – and selling? – drugs? "Travis, just what are you trying to tell me?"

"Let me show you." He stood and patted Wes on the top of his head. "I'll be right back."

When he returned, he carried a small, clear glass with an oddly greenish-colored liquid filling it. Travis held it out to Wes. "Here, try it, but just a sip. We have quite a bit of time before my foster mom returns, so you should be sober again by the time I need to take you home."

Wes looked at him in disbelief. _He wants to get me high?_ But the thought was appealing in a radical, stick-it-to-the man kind of way. No. No, he wouldn't do it. He was an upstanding citizen, he worked hard, he obeyed the rules, did as he was told. His father would flip and flip again if he knew he'd even considered it.

The idea he could thumb his nose at his father was all it took to seal his fate. That and the expectant look plastered across that handsome, dark face staring back at him.

"Give me the glass."

Wesley Ryan Mitchell had never been stoned before. Hell, he'd never so much as been _tipsy_ before meeting the bane of his existence, Travis Marks. But at this moment in time, staring up into the most gorgeous blue eyes he'd ever seen, it was a moot point.

Until those beautiful blue-grey eyes began to morph into the Eye of Sauron, or something equally frightening. Twin pinpoints of ruby flared in the centers, spiraling out into swirling mists of aqua. The edges misted green, drawing Wes in deeper towards that plusing, red heart.

Forcing his gaze away, he tried to breathe. _In, out, in, out_.

"Damnit," he muttered, turning back. Travis' eyes still swirled, brightened, and oscliated through the visible spectrum of colors as he watched, entranced. Tears welled up behind his eyes, unbidden. "What the hell did you give me," he half-whispered, half-pleaded. _Come closer, let me fall into those churning depths… _

Travis smiled down at him, wide, luscious lips spreading into an alluring grin. White teeth danced and sparkled. "Just a shot of cactus juice, buttercup. Remember our discussion? Nah, probably not, considering." The face kept staring at him, unrelenting. "Damn boy, you are gone. And off such a tiny sip, too."

"Cactus?" Wes squeezed his eyelids closed, arching his back as he twisted on the bed.

He watched helplessly as Travis admired the lean length of body squirming on his sheets. Wes had wanted Travis from the moment they'd first met, several weeks ago, but never thought he'd accomplish it. The idea that maybe, just maybe, Travis was interested in him, too, hadn't occurred to him until this second. He blamed the drugs for such an impossible concept as that. They were from different worlds, he and Marks. Or they had been, until the Fates intervened and brought them together, for better or for worse.

"I have to admit, sunshine, that our lovely health teacher probably wouldn't approve of taking our research on hallucenogens quite this far, but it's a bit too late for that at the moment, isn't it?" And, in a manner of speaking, it _was _their teacher's fault, after all, for parterning them up for this anti-drug project in the first place.

The blonde still writhed, clutching at the bedclothes, trying to escape some unknown force. "You okay, man?"

Wes's eyes fluttered open, latching onto the kaledioscopes set on either side of that perfect, sloping nose. "Yeah," he breathed. "But I think my body's on fire." _Blood becomes lava, skin the surface of a volcano… _

Travis grinned. "Oh yeah, you're hot, that's for sure_."_ Leaning across Wes' frame, he placed one hand flat on the mattress beside his left shoulder, the other resting lightly in the middle of the blonde's chest. His fingers began idly tugging at a button on the pinstriped preppy shirt.

Wes' eyes caught hold of his partner's fingers toying with his button. The squirming slowed, then ceased. A thought formed, whirled in his brain, before settling on his tongue.

"Are you going to kiss me?" _Please, please._

That floating, Cheshire cat smile appeared again, then faded into words. "I was thinking about it, blondie."

Wes nodded in time to the music mimicking the beat of his heart. "Then I suggest you do so before my lips flutter off into the sun."

"Don't worry," he reassured, caressing the trecherously flightly lips with a fingertip, "I'll catch them before they reach the window."

"Promise?" _Please don't let them flee before you touch them._

"Promise."

"Thank you," Wes sighed, allowing his lips to briefly flutter into a smile for Travis. _His Travis_. "Now you can kiss me." _Kiss, kiss, a kiss before you go… _

Travis anchored Wes' flight risk to his face with his own mouth, securing his lips to the blonde's. Their bodies melted, merged, and seperated. Wes allowed his spirit to soar, detach from his body to reach for the heavens. It promised to return, and it held true to its word, slamming back home, to earth, to his physical form, roughly the moment his nemesis' lips lifted, moved away.

Wes had never felt so empty as he did in that moment.

Blonde lashes fluttered, opened, settled closed again. Travis drew the tip of one finger along the pale fringe, startling Wes into opening his eyes completey. "You still in there, man?"

Wes blinked. Blinked again before focusing on the dusky face hovering inches above his. The feel of something solid pressed against the outside of his thighs. Lifting himself up just enough to look down the length of his body, he noticed Travis straddling his legs, leaning forward into him. "Trav? What?"

With one hand, Travis gently pushed Wes into a reclining position. "Relax, give it a few minutes before you try and sit up. I'd hate to have to wrangle you up off the floor. Again." He'd already fallen off the bed once.

He scrubbed at his aching temples with his fingers, praying the disorientation would dissolve. "What happened?"

Travis moved to the empty half of the bed, watching Wes closely. "You got wasted. On the smallest taste of anything I've ever seen. You were pretty funny though."

Pushing into an upright position, Wes glared at the other boy. "That's _right_. You drugged me." _And I let you_. "Why did you do that, Travis? Do you have any idea of what…" _Shut up, shut up, shut up, Wes!_

"Man, you took it from me. You knew what it was. This is not my fault. Well, not _all _my fault!"

Wes stood and paced the small patch of floor between the bed and the door. How did he let this happen? Is he so freaking enamored of this… this hellion that he can't even make decent choices? "So it's all mine then? Let's drug the new kid and see what happens?"

Travis sighed and moved to the edge of the bed. Swinging his feet over the side, he looked Wes over slowly. "No. I was trying to help you, you idiot. You are so fucking _high strung_ that I'm surprised you haven't snapped yet. You need to loosen the hell up before you go off the deep end here."

He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't find the words. Travis was right. No, he was more than right – he was right on the money with this one. Forced to maintain such strict control over himself, he'd never learned how to let go, to have fun, to just _be_. However, he couldn't let this go. Not now, not after he'd done something so horribly wrong… and ingesting the drugs was the least of his worries.

It was foggy, but he knew it'd happened.

He'd let Travis kiss him.

And he'd _liked _it. He wanted him to do it again. And then one more time, just to be sure…

"Travis, I have to go. I need to get out of here." He started shoving books into his backpack. A touch to his shoulder startled him, made him drop the papers in his hand. "I'll start putting this to- ."

"Wes, relax. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have given it to you, but you have got to chill before you have a heart attack."

"Travis, you don't understand… you don't… I've gotta…" He panicked, drew back, attempted to get as far from Travis as the little room would allow.

Travis had other ideas. Letting the crazed, still partially stoned kid out onto the streets alone wasn't an option. He did what he did best, he reacted first, thought second.

Marks grabbed Wes by the shoulders, whispering comforting words, calming him with his presence. Wes backed himself into the bedroom door, trapping himself between Travis and solid wood. He was scared, he didn't know what to do. Fleeing seemed like the best option, but he couldn't think, couldn't act. When Travis' mouth approached his, pressing into him firmly, gently, he reluctantly gave in, relaxed. Enjoyed.

The kiss was brief, calming, and over much too soon. Wes' heart pounded, his mouth worked, but no sound emerged.

"Blondie," Travis soothed, his lips on Wes' cheek, his forehead. "Talk to me, tell me what's going on in that head of yours." Another press of the lips to his chin, to his nose. "What's got you so damn scared? Did I push you too much? Please don't let me be the reason you're so freaked right now."

Wes lifted his mouth to Travis, pressed his lips to Marks', taking the intiative, letting him know the only way he knew how, that this was okay. That he needed this. But the words… how did he even begin to explain this?

"Marks… _Travis_… I don't know how…"

Travis carressed his face soothingly, lovingly. "Just talk. It'll fall into place."

So, he talked.


	6. Chapter 6

Luka

_I think it's because I'm clumsy_

_I try not to talk too loud_

_Maybe it's because I'm crazy_

_I try not to act too proud_

_They only hit until you cry_

_And after that you don't ask why_

_You just don't argue anymore_

He didn't like the look on Travis' face. It was too intense, considering the source. It was obvious Travis knew that something big was going on with Wes, but he was sure that the other boy didn't expect it to be this serious.

"I've – I've never told anyone about my home life before so, just – just cut me some slack, okay? Can you do that for me?" Travis nodded and gave an encouraging smile. Wes continued. "Do you think that… maybe you could get off me first?"

"What? Suddenly you don't like me so close to you?" Travis brushed his chest suggestively across Wes', teasing.

Wes swallowed. _Hard_. "No, but you're – you're making me nervous, trapping me like this."

Travis considered this for a second before stepping out of Wes' personal space. "I'm sorry."

Confusion flickered across Travis' face and Wes felt guilt flutter in his gut. Travis hadn't given him any reason to be nervous, or to feel threatened, but there were some things he couldn't control his reaction to. Being held without a clear escape route was one of them. A big one. "Don't apologize, just… just let me explain."

He ambled to the bed and sat, legs crossed at the ankles, waiting for Wes to sort through his thoughts enough to begin speaking. The blonde fiddled with his belt buckle, shuffled his feet, and sighed at least three times before finally making partial eye contact. Almost ten minutes had passed and Travis opened his mouth to tell him something comforting, he assumed, when Wes finally spoke.

"My father is a monster," he whispered. "I don't know what I ever did to make him hate me so much, but it's pointless wondering about it now."

Shaking his head, he sat on the bed beside Travis, needing the security of his friend by his side. He realized surprisingly that that's just what Travis was, a friend. When or how it happened was a mystery, but right now, he was grateful. Thankful he had someone he could even call _friend_.

Without a word, he reached out and took Wes' hand, squeezing gently, letting him know he wasn't alone. Wes assumed he was both afraid of what was about to come pouring out of his mouth and the memories he might have to share in return. Patient, he waited for the admissions that would flood the room.

"I don't honestly remember a time when he was proud of me or when I'd done something right. I do, however, remember when he started blaming my mother for my failures. She'd been 'assisting' me in a book report. I was eleven and she was checking my spelling more than anything."

"What happened?" He continued to hold Wes' hand in his, thumb stroking absently along his knuckles.

"I'm not sure. My dad picked my book and it was beyond my comprehension at eleven, I'd asked for something else, begging that I didn't understand what I was reading, but he was insistent. Swore that the only way to learn was to do. So, I did. And I failed. He assumed my mother allowed me to write an inferior report and hand it in…"

"When in truth, he required you to tackle something beyond your understanding and instead of listening, let you – and your mom – take the fall," he finished.

"Yeah, something like that. I don't even know. All I do know is it was when he began sharing my _punishments_ with her. I can't ever forgive myself for failing so badly that she had to take the blame."

Travis looked at his feet. Wes sensed that he knew the kind of man Mr. Mitchell was, maybe he'd even had a few as foster parents over the years. It seemed to him like he'd been lucky and had good, solid homes, mainly because he was so damn well-adjusted for a foster child. "So, the black eye…"

"Yeah, that," Wes evaded.

"Not a fight then, huh? Your father's handiwork, I'm guessing." It wasn't a question.

"You'd be right. I made the mistake of getting between him and my mother. My mother… I love her and she means well, but she often lacks basic common sense. She doesn't think before she speaks and sets him off quite a lot."

"And you come to her rescue." Wes nodded at Travis' intuitiveness. "Can I say that I feel the urge to hate your mother right now? For letting it come to this, for allowing her son to suffer like you do?" He shook his head, trying to clear the awful visual Wes had supplied. "But if I'm honest with us both, I know I would do the same for any of my foster moms, even the crappy ones. Because who deserves to be beaten like that anyway. Surely not an innocent, hardworking kid like you." He released Wes' hand and instead draped his arm around the dejected boy sitting by his side.

"What choice do I have? I can't let him hurt her like he does me."

Wes' voice broke on that last word. _Me_. Like he was responsible for all the evil in the world. A lump formed in Travis' throat, closing off communication, leaving only his physical self to express his hatred for Wes' situation, his disgust at the things he's had to endure evident on his face. He took a deep breath, inhaling and slowly exhaling, falling backwards across the bed as the air left his lungs. Tugging at the back of Wes' pressed button-up, he held his arms out and invited the blonde into them. Wes hesitated, debated, and crawled into the safety Travis' arms offered.

The blonde head nestled against the other boy's inviting chest, fitting perfectly in against Travis' shoulder. Wes slung a careless arm across Marks' waist, hoping, praying he wouldn't be asked to move it. In response, Travis pulled him closer. "You might not have a choice, buttercup," Travis began, idly tracing circles on Wes' back. "But _he _does. And if you need help, if you want… out… all you have to do is say the word."

Wes stilled, paralyzed by Travis' words. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean," he breathed, the words whispering against the top of his head, "that my mom's not just a nurse. She's also a foster mom, a foster mom with connections to more than a few social workers. She can help you. You and your mom."

_Help? I could get… help? _The thought had never occurred to him, he was convinced that he'd have to suffer in silence until he was old enough to go to college. "I – I can't. My mom said… when I asked, she said…"

Travis maneuvered his free arm until it was helping to hold Wes' trembling body to his own. "Your mom is scared, scared of what your dad would do if she tried to get the both of you out. Who knows, maybe she's tried before and suffered for it?" He cuddled Wes to his side, holding him close enough to feel the rapid pounding of his heart. "Just think about it and remember that I'm here. And she's here, too. We'll help you through this."

Wes nodded against Travis' side, unable to speak, too many thoughts crowding his mind. He'd think about it.

"Travis?" Wes' face was buried in the side of Travis' chest, muffling his voice.

"Yeah baby?" Travis toyed with an errant piece of blonde hair at the back of Wes' neck.

Wes shivered. "Stop that," he pleaded.

"Awww," Travis teased, watching the blush creep up from the collar of blondie's shirt and spread across his exposed neck. "Whatsa matter, ticklish?"

_Not quite the problem, you jerk. _"A little," he lied, squirming to get away from Travis' questing fingers. "Please, stop, I have a serious question for you."

He let his fingers fall away from that enticing little whorl of hair. "Okay, shoot. What's on your mind?"

"You. Or rather…" he backpedaled quickly, trying to cover his illicit thoughts. "Well, god, how do I even say this?" He scooted out of the reach of Travis' tempting fingers, craving and hating his need for that touch.

"Just say it, buttercup. You're not going to offend me, I can promise you that."

"Even if it comes out horribly, horribly wrong?"

"Even if. So spill."

"I… I thoughtyouonlylikedgirls." It came out in a rush, jumbled and run together, incomprehensible. Or so he hoped. _But here you are with me, holding me, kissing me, teasing me, tormenting me… _

Travis laughed. "I used to be like that. But now, I'm an opportunist. I don't care much, just that the other person is warm and cuddly and adorable. Kinda like you." He pinched Wes' cheek for emphasis. "But seriously, all I really need is a connection with that person for the sparks to fly. What about you? You never talk about girls, but then, you never talk about other guys either. So, what's your deal?"

Marks had told him over and over that he was safe here, no judgment was going to be levied upon him, no matter how crazy his response to any question. He could trust Travis, he could rely on Travis, he could _confide _in Travis. But was he able? Hell, he had to start somewhere, right? "I'm not allowed to date so…"

Travis interrupted. "What? You're not allowed to date? How old are you anyway? Sixteen?" Wes nodded. "That's stupid."

He sighed. "I know, but sometimes, some things just aren't worth the beating that follows the question, you know? Besides," he looked away from Travis' concerned face and stared at the wall. A movie poster from last year hung crookedly over a cluttered desk. "It's not like anyone could ever be interested in me, as broken as I am. And even if they did, we never stay anywhere long enough for me to find out. So, what's the point?"

"The point is, you should be able to live your life, be a kid, and not have to worry." Travis fiddled with a stretch of fabric that had rucked up between buttons and exposed a sliver of Wes' stomach. "And you're not answering me. Spill."

Wes should have known he wouldn't be able to derail Marks' train of thought that easily. He'd trusted Travis with so much already, what could it hurt to tell him everything? _It could hurt a lot, Wesley. He would _know _and that puts you at risk. _A strangled bundle of something built somewhere deep inside him.

"You know what?" Travis rolled onto his side, looked at Wes avoiding him, took note of the emotions warring on the other boy's face. "You don't have to answer that question. I have an idea anyway." He reached to touch Wes' face, thought to comfort him and hesitated. "And I'm going to stop touching you now. You seem so… conflicted… and I think my flirting is making it worse."

Travis rose and left the room, leaving Wes staring at the wall.

"Damnit," he swore. He'd promised himself he wouldn't push, so what did he do? He pushed. And blondie clammed up. Travis procured another soda from the refrigerator and slammed the door closed. "One of these days I'll learn to keep my damn mouth shut," he promised.

Popping the top on the cola can, he leaned against the counter and took a long draw. The thing that sucked the most was that Travis knew where he'd gone wrong and hadn't been able to stop himself. It'd been obvious to him that Wes was troubled and yet he refused to let up. He wanted to help him so much it hurt… and he still managed to shoot himself in the foot. Again.

"You like this boy," Maria, his foster mom, had said last night. She'd goaded him into spilling his guts, just like she always did. This time, he'd been eager to get it off his chest. She'd been full of good advice as well. "If you want him to see you for who you are, baby, then you need to _be _who you are and not this wisenheimer you want the world to see you as."

Travis slammed back the rest of the off-brand soda, let loose a window-rattling belch and returned to his room. He knew what he needed to do now, and he aimed on doing it.

He found Wes curled on his side, one hand under his cheek, the other curled around his midsection. Those striking blue eyes were closed and the blonde slept. A smile quirked up the corners of Travis' mouth. The boy sure was cute when he wasn't freaking out about everything. Peaceful even.

Reckoning Wes probably didn't sleep very well most nights, Travis decided to let him rest while he could. Curling up beside him, he positioned himself so that he was close enough to be known, but not close enough to touch. His constant touching and teasing had caused enough trouble for one day. In silence, he watched Wes sleep, the steady rise and fall of the younger boy's chest lulling Travis into a contented slumber of his own.

Gasping, he bolted upright. Wes' breath came heavily, the dregs of a dream still clinging to the edges of his mind. In it, he'd been twisted around the body of Travis Marks, engaging in… well, things he couldn't ever engage in. Not with any man and most assuredly not with Travis. His heart was beginning to slow, his breathing returning to normal. Slowly. _Breathe_, he reminded himself.

"Hey man," Travis said, touching a hand to Wes' back.

"GAH!" Wes scrambled off the edge of the bed, startled to find Marks lying where he'd been a second ago. "My god, Travis, don't _do _that."

Laughter filled the small room. "I'm sorry, buttercup, I didn't mean to spook you."

A nervous chuckle escaped him. "It's okay, I just didn't realize you were here. I must've dozed off."

"More than doze, honey. You've been out like a light."

Wes blinked. "What? For how long? What time is it?" He turned towards the window, swore under his breath when he saw the darkness outside.

"Relax." Travis stood and put a hand on each of Wes' shoulders, steadying him. "It's only a little past seven. You said your dad wasn't coming home until late, so I thought I'd let you sleep."

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. _In, out, in, out. Relax, Wesley._ "Okay, right. I – I should still be okay. Can you take me home?"

A touch of the light left Travis' eyes. "Yeah man, of course. Put your shoes on and I'll stuff your crap back into your bag. We can go when you're ready."

"Thanks," he said. "I appreciate it." Wes lifted a hand and tentatively squeezed Travis' wrist. "I guess you were wrong."

Travis released him so he could locate his shoes. "What do you mean?"

Wes motioned to the room. "You thought we could get more done here, but I don't think we accomplished much at all, do you?"

"Maybe not, but it was fun, right?"

Much to his surprise, Wes agreed. "It was."

"Want to do this again, tomorrow?"

"I guess that will depend on whether my father catches me out of the house or not." Wes hated the words as they left his mouth, but what else could he say? If he got caught, there wouldn't be enough of him left to visit.

A frown touched Travis' face. "Yeah, so we'd better make sure he doesn't find out, right? Get those shoes on, boy!"

Despite himself, Wes laughed. Travis seemed to have that effect on him lately.

Once again, the ride from Travis' place to his own home was entirely too short. It felt like Wes had only just settled in against that broad, welcoming back when they pulled into the Mitchell's drive. With a look over his shoulder, Travis killed the engine.

"You have my number, right?" When Wes nodded his assent, he continued. "Good. Call me no matter what the outcome. Just let me know you're okay?"

"And if I'm not?" _Why am I so weak? _

"And if you're not," he growled, "you call me so I can come rescue your scrawny ass, you _got that_?"

The vehemence in Travis' usually jovial tone stunned Wes. Seeing Marks take such opposition to the very idea that he _might not be_ okay melted a bit of the fear in his heart. No matter what happened from here on out, someone had his back. Someone would notice if he didn't show up for school. Someone cared.

For once in his life, someone gave a damn about Wesley Mitchell.

"I've got it, Travis."

"Good, now get yo' ass inside before someone sees us, okay?"

A nod and then, "Okay. See you tomorrow."

Travis gave a mock salute before kick-starting the bike into life. He pulled into the street, hovering just long enough to make sure Wes made it inside safely. Once the door closed, he drove off, saying a silent prayer that his little friend would be okay without him.

_I'm good, the house was empty. _ Wes looked at his text for a moment and then added a few words. Words that he'd come to associate with Travis after this afternoon. _Thank you, my angel boy. _ send

Travis' ears perked up at the familiar sound that announced a new text. Swiping a finger across the screen, he exhaled in relief as he read. _Anytime, _he responded, his grin growing more effusive as he went on, _anything for my sunshine._


	7. Chapter 7

7 – Takin' Off This Pain

_I've got a cold beer in my right hand_

_In my left I got my weddin' band_

_I've been wearin' it 'round now for way too long_

_And I'm more than ready to see it gone_

_And I'm the only one who can set myself free_

_So I'm takin' off this pain you put on me_

It had taken quite a lot of convincing, but finally Travis had assented and let Wes handle the actual wording of their report. It was the least Wes felt he should do after all the hand holding Travis had been giving him since the Night of the Cactus Juice.

Wes laughed. _Night of the Cactus Juice._ It had been Travis' idea to call it that, like they had lived their own horror movie that night. If it had been left up to him, he'd have called it something closer to the truth. Something like T_he Night Wes Mitchell kissed a Boy and Liked It_. Or T_he Auspicious Evening Wes Mitchell Sealed His Eternal Doom. _

He shook his head and tried to focus on the report that was due in the morning. Travis had insisted on writing a rough draft for his half of the report and Wes had promised he'd do his best to keep true to Travis' notes. Mr. Rejas couldn't hold it against him if he edited Travis' lackadaisical grammar style though, could he? All he'd have to do was show him the handwritten synopsis Marks had handed him that morning, bleeding red ink, to prove his point, but he'd deal with that if it came to it.

A loud banging coming from the front door caused Wes to start. Clicking the save icon, he left his desk to find out who was demanding attention. He always kept the doors locked and it was a minute before he was staring at the odd, suited man on the doorstep.

"Myron Mitchell." It wasn't a question.

"No, sir. I'm his son, can I help you?"

The stiff man nodded once. "Yes. Sign this."

He handed over a clipboard with a piece of paper attached. Wes scanned it, unsure if he should sign it or not. "What's this for?"

He sniffed, and said, "Just record of who the package was left with in case there are any… issues… later on."

Wes looked the man over from beneath his lowered lashes. The guy was uptight and condescending and he didn't like him one bit. People like this never brought good news, and the name of what could only be a law firm – Sawyer, Duke, and Costas – didn't bode well for his father's mood later tonight. However, he was relatively certain he didn't have much choice at the moment but to sign. Taking the proffered pen, he signed, printed, and dated the sheet. In return, he was handed a thick manila envelope addressed to his father.

"See that Mr. Mitchell gets that, would you, son?"

_I'm not your son,_ he wanted to snipe, but he resisted the Travis-like urge to be rude. "Of course, sir."

The runner from the law firm gave another sharp nod before turning and walking away. Wes turned the package over and over in his hands, thinking. _What could it be,_ he wondered idly. Shrugging his curiosity away, he closed the door and left the package on his father's desk, placing it alongside the day's mail delivery.

Returning to his room, he buried himself in his report, package all but forgotten.

His relationship with Travis Marks had altered quite a bit since that night he'd had his breakdown. As much as he'd like to believe to the contrary, they'd grown quite close over the last two weeks. Travis never let a day go by without contacting Wes in some way. Good morning texts, teasing at lunch, instant messaging after dinner, or a good night tweet. He hated to admit it, but he was becoming quite fond of having Travis around, even peripherally.

It also helped keep his mind off the fact that his mother still hadn't returned from her trip to see her sister. Yesterday had been the three week mark since her departure and Wes was beginning to worry. She'd never been gone for more than a day or two, and even then, she called him twice a day to make sure he'd been behaving himself and not antagonizing his father. He hadn't heard a word from her since the night before she left. It scared him.

A witch's cackling drew his attention back to his computer screen. He'd finished up the last of the report half an hour ago and was contemplating dinner for one – again – when the AIM screen popped up. Why it had cackled at him, he wasn't sure, but he guessed that it had Travis written all over it.

_blacklinelothario: _Hey buttercup, how's my boy tonight?

_brainybuttercup:_ Good. Just finished the final edit on our report, printed it and put it in its folder, as directed.

_brainybuttercup:_ Now thinking about food.

_blacklinelothario: _Parents not home?

_brainybuttercup: _No. Mother is still out of town, Father seems to only come home long enough to shower and change and leave again.

_blacklinelothario: _That's good though, right? He can't hurt you if he's not home.

_True, _Wes thought. But it wasn't quite the point either.

_brainybuttercup:_ Right. But I'm worried about my mother. She's never, ever been gone this long. And she's definitely not gone so long without calling.

_blacklinelothario: _Don't worry about her so much. If she's with family, she's fine.

_blacklinelothario: _I could eat, yanno. Want me to come pick you up?

Now there was a delectable offer. Travis had made a similar proposition a few nights ago and, instead of the promised cheeseburger, he'd found himself flat on his back in the park with Marks' tongue down his throat. Vastly more satisfying, if you asked Wes. _Kissing a beautiful man under the moonlight… _

He was deciding how to form his response when he heard his name being bellowed from the living room. _Oh no_, he worried. The sound of his father's voice this early in the evening wasn't a good sign.

_brainybuttercup: _Trav, I can't – my father just arrived home and I don't think he's very happy. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

"WESLEY, god damnit, answer me!"

_blacklinelothario: _If you need me, call me. Please.

_brainybuttercup: _ I will. I have to go. Now.

His bedroom door was thrown open before he could respond. Myron Mitchell filled the doorway, anger and hatred rolling off him in waves. "Why. The. Fuck. Didn't. You. Answer. Me?"

"I'm – I'm sorry, father, I was…" He motioned vaguely to the computer.

He realized his mistake as soon as he'd made it. Wes hadn't been able to get his laptop closed before his father had entered, Travis' IM still open on the screen. _I'll be there in a hot minute, all you have to do is say the word, baby. _Good god. _Baby_. Why did Travis always have to use so many endearments?

"You were just _what_, exactly, Wesley?"

_blacklinelothario: _Baby? Wes? You still there?

Myron stalked towards Wes, meaty hands balled into furious fists. Glancing at the screen, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. With a rough shove, he pushed Wes from behind the desk. He leaned in for a closer look at just what his son was engaging in during his free time.

Wes looked up from where he'd fallen, watched as his father's lips pressed together in a tight line. His nostrils flared, his fingers clenched, unclenched, and re-clenched in a never ending cycle. All the signs of imminent rage were there, waiting, brewing.

_Travis Marks, you've done it now. You're going to have a whole lot to kiss better this time._ The notion of the older boy caressing away all his hurt and pain, tending his bruises and scrapes, was the only thing keeping him steady, containing the threat of tears. He knew that tonight, he was going to receive one hell of a beating. And all because of that one word. _Baby._

"_Baby?"_ Myron growled, turning from the computer to his son. "Who is this punk that he dares to call you _baby_?" He strode towards Wes, towering over the boy's cowering form on the floor. "I thought we'd _fixed_ this _problem_ after the last time? No? Well then, I suppose I'm going to have to teach you yet another lesson, you worthless little _pansy_. And since your _mother_ isn't home to stop me this time, I'll be able to fully express my displeasure at your continual disobedience."

He unbuckled his belt, pulling the thick leather from the loops of his dress slacks. Myron studied it for a moment and then threw it onto the desk. "No, I think I'll use my hands tonight. Makes it more _personal_ you see, and maybe, just maybe you might get it this time." He looked down at the boy on the floor, at the tears streaking his pale face, blue eyes wide in anticipation of what was to come. "I'm so excited, Wesley, to have this moment to teach you a hard truth and do you know why? It's because your mother isn't home to interrupt and _thankfully_, she won't be home again, ever."

_What?_ Panic rose in Wes' throat, terrified of what his father might really mean.

"Oh, I see the confusion on your face. You didn't know, did you? Your precious _mommy_ didn't tell you that she was leaving you behind, did she? No, of course she didn't because she knew her _wretched_ little girly boy would cry and beg her to take him along." Myron paced, giant hands wringing. "You see, Wesley, she didn't want either of us it seems. That package you signed for? They're divorce papers. Your mother has flown the coop and run back home to _her _mommy and isn't ever coming back. Not for me and certainly not for you. From now on, it's just you… and me."

Normally, in the moments before a beating, Wes' father would rage at him, screaming and spitting, wielding angry words like a weapon. Working up to the main event. But tonight was different. An eerie calm had settled over Myron Mitchell after the revelation of his wife's betrayal and that frightened Wes to the core.

_My god, he's going to kill me. _

Travis paced the length of his room. Wes hadn't responded to his IM's, but he figured he couldn't, not once his father had come home. But when Wes didn't respond to his texts, he began to worry. He always found a way to let Travis know he was okay – even if it was just a smiley face texted on the sly. This was unlike him.

"Travis, baby, please stop pacing."

He looked up to find his current foster mother frowning at him from the doorway. "Sorry Maria – Mama." Travis tried to sit, but couldn't help the fidgeting.

She came into the room and sat beside him on the bed. Taking his hand, she gave him an up close once over. "Are you okay? There's something bothering you, I can tell." She'd always been good at that, it was one of the things that made her good at what she did. Both as a nurse and a foster parent. She actually _cared_ and that was rare. "Talk to me."

He looked everywhere but at her for a few moments, taking the time to gather his thoughts. "You remember me telling you about Wes, right?"

"The adorable little blonde you've got the thing for? Yes."

Travis felt the blush steal up his neck at her words. He _did_ have a thing for blondie, but to hear the words out in the open like that, well, it was too much. "Yeah, him," he confessed. "I'm worried about him. He won't answer my texts and he always does."

"Could he be busy? Sleeping? I hate playing devil's advocate, but I can't let you run off half-cocked and start trouble, either." She gave him a stern look. "If there is one thing you're good at, Travis, it's causing drama."

He shook his head slowly. "Could be, but Mama, his dad came home while we were talking… he was angry and…" Travis couldn't find the words.

"His dad, he's not a nice man, I'm guessing?"

He was half relieved that she was so intuitive, but the look on her face at the realization hurt him. All he could do was shake his head.

"Do you have his home number?" Travis nodded. "Have you tried it?"

"Yeah, no answer there, either. Mama, I'm _scared_. His dad is nasty."

"Well," she said, standing and bracing her hands on her round hips, "that leaves us only one option as concerned citizens."

Travis looked up hopefully. "We're going to check on him?"

"Damn right we're going to check on him. _No one_ messes with my children or their friends."

This was but one of many, many reasons why Travis loved that woman so much.

It took entirely too much time to drive those few miles to Wes' home. During the six minute drive, he fidgeted, buckled and unbuckled his seatbelt and changed the radio station eighteen times.

"Travis. Stop it."

"I'm sorry. I…"

"I know, honey, but I need you to focus and tell me which house is his."

Travis looked up surprised at how they'd gotten here without him realizing it. "That one, the beige one. Number 1372." He pointed at the building in question, just to make sure she understood.

Maria pulled into the drive and shut off the car. "It looks like no one is home."

Travis shook his head. "Wes has to be here. His father's been ignoring him since his mother left on a trip, there's no way he'd take Wes with him anywhere. I swear it, Mama."

She nodded and let herself out of the small Toyota. "Okay then, go knock."

Travis raced to the front door, knocking loudly. "Wes? Wes, you in there?" He pounded again, frantic. "WES!"

Frustrated at the lack of response, he jiggled the door knob, finding it locked. He gave it a sound jerk before releasing the knob to search his pants pocket. With a wicked cackle he found what he was looking for. He gave the pick a cursory glance before going to work on the lock.

"Travis Elton Marks, just what do you think you're doing?"

He'd scandalized his foster mother, apparently. "Picking the lock," he commented without looking up.

"You said you'd given that up," she accused.

_Busted_. "Uh, I have?" He gave her a fleeting look over his shoulder before focusing back on the barrier keeping him from Wes. "But can we fight about this later? I figure breaking and entering is worth the jail time in this case."

She showed her agreement by not responding and letting him work. It took four minutes longer than it should have, but Travis was out of practice. He _had_ given up the petty burglary that had gotten him booted out of his last foster home after all. _Mostly_. The lock gave up and Travis whooped in glee, ignoring the dour look his foster mother shot him. Opening the door, he rushed inside.

"Wes!" Travis heard a groan coming from his left. He rushed down the hall and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh my god," he heard his foster mother gasp from behind him, then the sound of a phone being dialed.

Travis knew Wes was in trouble if his foster mother – a nurse – was that taken aback. But it didn't take a nurse to see he was in bad shape. The half of his face that Travis could see was covered in blood. His bottom lip was split and bleeding, his eye red and swollen – it'd be black and ugly before long. Spatters of blood speckled his beautiful blonde hair, giving it a creepy sort of reddish highlight. Both arms, bruised and scraped, wrapped tightly around his midsection.

"An ambulance is on the way." Maria's voice brought him back into reality. He nodded but couldn't take his eyes off Wes. "Go, wait for them at the front, I'll do what I can to help him until they get here."

Numb, Travis did as he was told.

Travis watched in silence as the paramedics loaded Wes into the ambulance. They'd given him about fourteen seconds to tell him good-bye before they wheeled him off, but it was enough. Just barely enough time to see that Wes was alive and kicking. He'd gotten a flicker of blue eyes and the lamest attempt at a smile he'd ever seen, but it gave him hope. Hope that Wes was going to make it through this somehow. "Hang in there, buttercup, you're going to be okay."

"If you say so," he managed. Or close to it.

He did say so. It was his mission to make sure that he was okay eventually. They took Wes away and Travis was left standing. A touch on his shoulder reminded him that he wasn't alone. Turning, he found his foster mother with her arms outstretched, offering him the comfort he so badly needed.

"He'll be okay, baby. He's in good hands now."

Travis nodded into her shoulder, unable to do more than silently agree.

Light stung his eyes. Voices battered his ears, too much noise for his brain to process.

"Wesley," he heard over and over. "Can you blink your eyes, Wesley?"

He blinked. Or he thought he did. He must've blinked because the request stopped. A tall, shadowed figure moved into his line of sight. Sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Wesley? I'm Officer Monroe. I know you're not feeling too hot right now, so I'll keep this short, okay? After speaking with your friends…" he checked his notepad before continuing, "Maria Escalante and Travis Marks, we've picked up your father and are holding him downtown. Can you tell us how to get in touch with your mother?"

He thought he shook his head 'no', but he couldn't be certain. Wes felt like he was floating just above his battered body, not quite connected to it any longer. The errant realization that pain killers were not nearly as much fun as hallucinogenic cactus juice flitted through his brain, bringing the idea of a smile to his face.

"I was afraid of that. You can confirm that her name is Marilyn Mitchell?" The semblance of a nod was enough. "Okay, thank you. I'll look into finding a number for her…"

"Dora," he wheezed.

"I'm sorry?" Officer Monroe leaned closer. "Dora?"

Wes gave a slight nod. "Dora… Winston. My… my aunt. She's there… in Connecticut."

That made more sense. "Thank you, young man. You're a tough kid and I think you're going to be okay." The officer gave his hand a squeeze before standing.

Leaving him alone. Again.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Almost to the end, guys. One more chapter and an epilogue. Thanks for sticking with me through this!

Feels Like Tonight

_I never felt like this before._

_Just when I leave, I'm back for more._

_Nothing else here seems to matter._

_In these ever-changing days,_

_You're the one thing that remains._

_I could stay like this forever._

In the intervening days, Wes weaved in and out of consciousness, floating to the surface only to be drug back down again after a brief time. The police had located and incarcerated his father. They had also, seemingly, located his mother but she hadn't of yet shown her face. It didn't surprise Wes much. If he'd found a way out, he wouldn't have returned for anyone either. _Not even for me. _

Travis and his foster mother, Maria, had been the only ones to visit him so far. He could live with that. Two good visitors beat fifteen unwilling ones any day. On his first day of lockdown, as Marks had taken to calling his hospital stay, he'd brought a small bouquet of buttercups and baby's breath for his room. On the second, he'd announced that he'd taken the initiative to print and turn in their joint report. When he'd shown up on the third day, he brought some discouraging news.

"Mama has been keeping in touch with the officer assigned to your case," he began. A sour look crossed his face as he continued. "I think the punk likes her, but she can handle herself. Wait, what was I saying? Right. Your mom, not mine. They've found her and talked to her, but she refuses to budge."

"She's afraid," Wes whispered.

"Yeah, I guess she is. Either way, she refuses to come here to get you."

_What? _He knew she wouldn't want to show up while his father was still at large, but he was locked up good and tight for the time being. Why wouldn't she come back for him? Take him with her to safety? "Can you blame her?"

His voice was so quiet Travis had to strain to hear him. "Please tell me I just misheard that, blondie, because if I didn't, I'm gonna have to put the hurt on you but good."

Good ol' Travis, always trying to boost him up where he didn't belong. He wondered if Marks realized that all this ego fluffing was the reason he was where he was right now. If he'd only remembered his place and not let Travis fool him into thinking he could be more, _they _could be more, maybe he wouldn't have destroyed his family like he had. He'd been stupid to even try and have a normal life. His father's voice from that night haunted him again. _You were a mistake, you hear me? Unplanned, unwanted, unnecessary. _The idea that he'd been unloved went unspoken as it had been made vividly clear.

"It doesn't matter, Travis. My father's in jail and my mother is better off without me. Why worry about either of them when it isn't going to change a thing? No one's ever going to want me."

"It matters because _you matter_ you stupid, stubborn ass!" Travis stood and stalked towards the door, turning back to glare as he neared the exit. "I don't get it, Wes. You're a great guy, handsome, smart… durable… and yet, you think you're worthless. Do you have any freaking idea how hard it is to love someone who is constantly beating themselves down?" Flinging the door open, he stormed out, letting the heavy wood slam shut behind him.

_Well, that went well_. Wes wanted to hate himself for making Travis so angry, but considering he had no idea what was going to happen to him once he got out of this place, Marks was better off making a clean break. The uncertainty ate at him, making his stomach roil and his head ache. And now that he was well and truly alone, all he could do was wait and see what happened.

He awoke to a nurse moving around his room, taking vitals, checking levels. She smiled when she saw he was awake. Holding up an envelope she said, "You had a visitor while you were sleeping. He left this for you." With a wave of the powder blue stationary, she handed it over to him. "If you need anything, you know how to get me."

Wes watched her leave. The envelope sat in his lap for a few minutes until the curiosity began to nibble at him. Turning it over and over in his hands, he prayed it was from Travis. He knew it couldn't possibly be however, not with the way he'd stormed out earlier. But he could still hope, right? He took a deep breath, let it out, inhaled again. And then he opened the envelope.

_Baby,_

_I'm sorry – I was out of line. But you pissed me off, okay? You are worth it, like it or not. I want you. Hell, I need you. Need you so much it hurts. Why else would I follow you and make your life hell? And don't you dare say it's because I'm just that annoying 'cause that's a lie. _

_Mama says she might have some good news later, but I can't tell you what yet. But I had to tell you that you matter to at least two people. I don't know if that counts for much, but it's a start. _

_I'll come see you later, unless you tell me not to. _

_-T_

Wes stared at the letter in his hands, uncomprehending. _News? What kind of news? _Even though Travis said it was good news, he doubted there was any such thing these days. And did he want Travis to come by later? Yes, yes, and yes. He had to let him know. Grabbing his phone from the bed, he sent off a quick text and hoped.

_I'm sorry Travis – please come back. I'm an idiot. Forgive me?_

Seconds later, he received the most beautiful text he'd ever seen:

_Nothing to forgive, blondie. I'll be back at 4. Xxx_

"So what's the good news?" Travis and Maria had only arrived a handful of minutes ago, but Wes was impatient. The not knowing was killing him.

"Actually, Wes, we have two bits of good news for you," she told him. "First, you're being released tonight. The doctor stopped me on my way in to let me know he'd be up in about thirty minutes."

_He was going home? _But that wasn't good news, not when you no longer had a home to go to. "Oh, I guess that's good but… well, honestly, I have nowhere to go."

"Man, for such a smart kid, you're not always all that bright are you?"

"Travis," Maria warned, "you be nice."

"Yes ma'am," he assured her. "Wes, you're coming home with us tonight. It's not permanent, but…"

He sat up. "I'm what?"

Maria smiled, ruby-painted lips fully engaged. "You're coming home with us for now. I've spoken with your social worker and since you're already established in a school and are doing well, she agreed to let me foster you until they can either find you another home or convince your mother to retrieve you."

"So see, baby? Good news!" Travis' eyes were lit with excitement.

It was contagious, too. Wes could feel the eagerness to get the heck out of dodge building within him. "Yeah, yeah, it really is good news. What do I need to do?"

"Just get your things together. Once the doctor has cleared you, you can get dressed and we can go home."

_Home._ That word hadn't ever sounded so appealing.

"There is one thing though." Maria looked serious.

"Wh-what's that?" _Please don't let her change her mind._

"You're gonna have to shack up with me, baby. Our place? It's only two bedrooms."

Maria smiled. "There is always the couch and if you choose that, you and Travis can rotate."

He'd sleep on the floor if it meant he'd be safe. And he told her so. They both assured him that that was not ever going to be an option, that there would always be a warm blanket and a soft pillow for him, for as long as he needed it. Wes was thankful.

"You wash and I'll dry," Wes announced. "If that's okay, I mean."

Travis laughed. "Stop being so weird, Wes. You're family now, you can tell me what to do anytime you like. Just don't expect me to actually do it or anything."

It was Wes' third night in the Escalante Home for Wayward Children and he couldn't be happier. Spending his days at school, no longer having to forage for his own lunch, just being able to learn and study and be a kid. And the nights… the nights were the best. On the nights that Maria worked, he and Travis had simple meals – grilled cheese and chips or spaghetti and salad – but those glorious nights when Maria was off? They ate in style. Chile and cheese enchiladas. Tacos of every kind. And Wes' newfound favorite – chilaquiles.

After dinner, they had dish duty in payment for the meal they'd eaten. He'd never hated washing dishes, but it wasn't ever his favorite chore, either. With Travis by his side, however, it soon became an enjoyable adventure. He'd learned that first night not to let Travis wash, otherwise he wound up soaked. On the other hand, Travis was always more than helpful getting him out of those _awfully wet clothes, Wes_ and into something warm and dry.

That was the very, very best part of living in this bizarre but loving household: the moments he spent just _being _with Travis. Snuggled against his side in bed reading, sitting in mismatched armchairs playing video games, or even from across the dinner table. He now understood that he'd completely misjudged Marks from the very beginning. In his own annoying way, all he'd been trying to do was get Wes to open up and be himself. What Travis hadn't known back then – what Wes himself hadn't even fully realized – was that Wes hadn't known who he was until he'd met Travis.

A loud _snap_ followed by a prick of pain brought him back to the present. "Ouch, that hurt you jerk!" Wes rubbed the spot on his thigh where Travis had smacked him with the wet dishtowel.

"Quit daydreaming and hand me that damn platter. You've been washing it for like seven minutes already."

_Oh_. Yeah, he supposed it was as clean as it was going to get. Wes tipped the end towards Travis, offering up the dish for drying. "Sorry."

Travis shoulder bumped him playfully. "Don't apologize for everything. You don't have to be sorry or guilty or anything here unless you want to be." He quickly wiped the damp towel over the top of the platter, flipped it and dried the bottom as well before placing it in the dish drainer. Tossing the towel onto the counter, he took Wes' hands in his, squeezing. "You don't ever have to say you're sorry for anything ever again if you don't want to."

Wes quirked an eyebrow. "And if I want to?"

One shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug. "They say it, but only say it because you mean it, not because you think you should or because you're afraid you're going to get hit if you don't. Ya feel me?"

Wes' other eyebrow raised in mock shock. "I feel ya."

A throaty chuckle filled the air. "Naw, you ain't feelin' me yet, but give it a few minutes and you sure will be."

He tried to act outraged, but it wasn't any use. The laughter broke through the façade of offense. "Travis Marks, you are such a pig."

Pale fingers rested on a dark-skinned chest. Their tips lightly danced in circles, aimlessly tracing an unseen pattern on the muscle beneath them. "Travis, can we talk?"

Full, luscious lips pressed against Wes' pale temple. "About what, baby?"

Warmth spread through him, from the place where Travis' mouth touched his skin to the tips of his toes. To date, Travis had kept things light, uncomplicated, between them. Languorous kisses coupled with silky caresses was as far as he'd let it go. Travis wanted more, even someone as untested as Wes could figure that much out, but he hadn't pressed the issue either. "About us. More about what an idiot I've been."

Travis pressed more kisses against his face, quieting him. "Shhh, its fine."

"But…"

"But nothing. I'm guilty of being an idiot too, you know."

Wes tilted his head up and grazed his lips along the length of strong jaw hovering above him. "How so?"

"I pushed you even when I knew I should lay off. I didn't know what you were dealing with and I made an ass out of myself."

"I tend to have that effect on people, it seems."

Growling, Travis pushed Wes onto his back, straddling his waist. He pressed his mouth against the battered boy's, delving with his tongue, comforting with his hands. Pulling back, he looked into Wes' blue eyes. "You do not, you hear me? What you do have a habit of, however," and he softened the news with a brush of a kiss, "is putting up a wall that keeps everyone at a distance. That can make you seem like an ass. But you're not. Not my buttercup."

He had to admit to himself that Travis was right on this one. Instead of responding, he simply opened his mouth wider, encouraging Travis' exploration of his tonsils. Freedom hadn't ever tasted as sweet as the kisses of his lover, his best friend. _Travis_.

Two strong hands gently made their way to the hem of his t-shirt, lifting and pulling it over his head, bearing his bruised and cut skin to the nighttime air. "Aw, baby," Travis whispered, kissing his way along each and every reminder of the life he'd been living such a short time ago. "I wish it could have been different, but it's over. It's all over."

But he was wrong. It – his life – was only just beginning.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: I'll say it again… I know nothing about how the foster care system works in this country, but it seemed plausible at the time. _

Second Chance

_Tell my mother, tell my father I've done the best I can_

_To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand_

_I'm not angry, I'm just saying_

_Sometimes goodbye is a second chance_

_Please don't cry one tear for me_

_I'm not afraid of what I have to say_

_This is my one and only voice_

_So listen close, it's only for today_

Travis hated the thought that Wes was only going to be here with him for a few days, a month at the most. He'd already been here for five days now, who knew how many more they had left before the courts moved him to something more permanent? The very idea that he could be leaving made him ill.

It was Tuesday, so his foster mom, Maria, was working the night shift, leaving the two of them alone, cuddled in Travis' bed. She wouldn't be home until early the next morning and it both reassured and frightened Travis. He liked being alone with Wes, especially now that he knew he was safe, but he also worried that he'd have another nightmare and not be able to comfort the younger boy.

Wes had spent nearly a week in the hospital after his father's latest beating. His father had spent the same amount of time in the county jail. Every night since he'd come to stay with Travis and his foster mom, he'd woken in the dead of night, flailing and screaming. That first night, Maria had been there to comfort Wes, she'd known exactly what do to and say to calm him down. But the second night, they'd been alone and Travis had been paralyzed. He was terrified that tonight it would happen again. And that he'd fail Wes when he needed him the most.

It didn't matter how many times Travis asked either, Wes refused to discuss his nightmares. Travis figured they had to have something to do with that last awful night with his father, but Wes refused to discuss that, too. So, Travis was at a loss. He'd just have to play it by ear and do the best he could.

A sharp kick to the thigh acted as Travis' late-night wake up call.

"No. Nonononono… NO!" Wes screamed the last word, thrashing and striking Travis in the face with a fist. Sweat beaded his forehead, his hair damp with exertion.

"Shit," Travis muttered, rolling to his knees and attempting to pin Wes' arms to the mattress. "Baby, it's me, relax." Wes struggled more strongly, kicking and screaming. "Wes! Stop!"

One pale arm broke free and started battering at its perceived enemy. "NO! You won't hurt me any longer!"

Travis took the left hook to the face like a pro. Wrangling Wes' arms down to his side, he threw one leg across his midsection, climbing onto him. Wes struggled against the bigger boy, tears streaming from his eyes. Fear was overwhelming him and the screams and shouts were slowly turning to whimpers. It was breaking Travis' heart, but he had to calm him down before he hurt himself. "Baby, it's Travis, stop, please."

"NO!" he sobbed, choking on his fear.

Desperate and out of ideas, Travis leaned in between Wes' struggling arms and pressed his mouth against the blonde's. Wes fought for a moment before his limbs slowed, then stopped scuffling. Tears flowed freely down his pale cheeks. "Please don't hurt me," he begged.

"Oh baby, I'm never going to hurt you…" Pain squeezed at Travis' heart so he kissed Wes again and then a third time, just because it felt right. "You're safe here." He rolled onto his side and pulled him into the circle of his arms, holding tightly until the trembling stopped.

"Travis," he whispered. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn't know. I…"

"Shhh," he breathed against Wes' temple. "It's okay, I understand baby."

Gradually, his breathing returned to normal, his heartbeat slowing. Eventually, Wes fell asleep in Travis' arms, head on his shoulder, hand clinging to one bicep. The soft snoring sound coming from the exhausted body next to him made him smile. _Maybe he'll sleep through the rest of the night_.

He couldn't be sure, but he knew he'd be here if it happened again.

Almost three weeks had passed since Wes had come to stay at Maria Escalante's foster home and he had the nagging feeling that his time here was just about up. He'd known from the beginning that it was only a temporary solution and that he shouldn't get so attached to his afternoons with Travis or the indulgent ethnic food he'd been eating. But he couldn't stop the feeling of loss welling in his soul. For the first time ever, he felt like he was a part of something. A family even. And it was killing him to think that he was going to have to leave it soon.

He'd tried to keep it from Travis, but Marks being who he was made that impossible. Between nagging, teasing, and cajoling, he'd ultimately ferreted out the truth. Wes was more than a little surprised to hear that Travis was having the same worries.

"The last thing I want is to lose you," he'd admitted one night over a bowl of Cheerios. "Losing you to another foster family would be bad enough. But if you wound up at another school? That would be too much."

Wes agreed. Travis made him feel safe, loved even. The idea that he might have to find a way to make it without the obnoxious bully at his side petrified him. They had become ingrained in each other's lives, intertwined with one another in a way he'd never experienced. Being without Travis would be like being without his right arm. A very brash, insufferable right arm.

They made a silent pact that night to spend as much time together as they could. Unable to know when things were going to change for the worst, they had to live in the here and now. And make it worth every moment.

"Boys? BOYS!"

This hadn't been the first time Maria had hollered for them, but it had been the first time they'd heard her. They'd been too wrapped up in each other's arms to pay much attention to anything but what they were feeling. The third time, her shrill voice had cut through it all and brought them running.

"It's about time you two. I'd ask what took you so long, but judging by your guilty faces, I'm sure I don't want to know."

She was teasing them, but Wes' ingrained sense of guilt got the better of him. "I'm sorry, _we're _sorry. We were…"

Her musical laugh filled the room. "I told you, honey, no explanations when it's only going to make your little pink cheeks even pinker."

"She's got you on that one, buttercup," Travis agreed.

"Oh shut up, would you? You are not helping things," Wes defended.

"As much as I'd love to watch you two continue your lover's quarrel, I do have something to talk to you about. Have a seat, boys."

Wes hated those words. _We need to talk_. It never ended well, as far as he was concerned. But she was a good and kind lady, strict but fair, and they both respected that. Usually. Mostly. She wouldn't let him down. What she had to say might not make Wes happy, but he knew that whatever the result, it was deserved and that she'd tried her hardest to do what she felt was best for them all.

"What's up, Mama? I think we've been behaving ourselves."

"You _think_, you silly boy. Travis, if you don't _know _if you've been good or not, then you probably haven't. But no, it's not about that at all."

Wes cocked his head, studying her. Her face was set in a serious manner, but her eyes were lively, darting happily from one to the other. "Then what is it? Am I being shipped off already?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" She watched his face as a mix of emotions washed over it. Fear, anticipation, anxiety, so many more. "But more importantly, I have a question for you: where do you _want _to be, Wesley?"

Hope surged through his veins, followed quickly by a tsunami of fear. "I want to be _here_ for as long as I can be. I don't want to have to start all over again and again." Then, more quietly, "I don't think I could endure that."

"I couldn't either," Travis admitted. "Seeing him go somewhere more permanent would be good for him. But in the state he's in now, so soon after all… all of _that_, seeing him bounce around like I did for so many years would wreck him."

"I agree," Maria said. "This is why I have asked to be his permanent foster mother. As permanent as a foster mom can be, anyway." Travis stood and whooped loudly, doing his famous touchdown dance in the middle of the living room. Maria laughed at her exuberant charge. "Now Travis, settle down. It isn't for certain yet and depends on two things."

"And those things are?" Wes was terrified to know, but he had to, didn't he? Had to know what he was up against.

"Well, the first is you, of course, but we've already jumped that hurdle. The other is my approval. They assured me I'm a shoe-in because I've been doing this for so long, but you never know."

"We can hope though, right?" Travis squeezed Wes' shoulder, encouraging him.

"And pray. Lots and lots of prayer, boys."

It was six long weeks before the Escalante-Marks-Mitchell household got their answer. As far as Wes was concerned, it was the longest damn six weeks of his life. When the letter announcing Wes' fate arrived in the mail, it was nearly enough to send even the normally unflappable Travis Marks into a full-fledged panic attack.

"What do we do," Wes asked, voice low.

"Wait for Mama Maria to get home. She's just at the store, she shouldn't be long."

"Should we open it?" He knew better, she'd given them strict instructions to not even _think_ of doing that, but he couldn't help but ask all the same.

Travis studied the official looking envelope, frowning. "Hell no! As much as I want to now, I don't want to be finding out from the grave whether you get to stay or not."

Wes laughed, some of the stress escaping with the sound. He didn't know what he'd do without Travis by his side, always ready with a wisecrack or hug when he needed it. Hopefully, he wouldn't ever have to find out. The sound of the front door creaking open sent the boys running.

"Mama," Travis began.

"It arrived," Wes interrupted.

"Okay, okay," she shouted over the two exuberant boys trying to talk over the other, "I see it's arrived. Give me that letter and go get the groceries, pronto."

"But Mama," they said in unison, defeated.

"Now," she reminded them.

Griping and grumbling, the two teens reluctantly shuffled off to drag in the week's groceries and commenced putting them in their proper places while she perused the contents of the officious envelope.

"She's frowning," Travis commented, sneaking a look over his shoulder.

"It's probably laden with legal terms and double-speak," Wes assured him. "It can be confusing reading that type of missive even when you know what you're reading."

"I hope you're right because she looks even unhappier now."

Wes shot his temporary mother a quick look. Travis was right, she did not look happy at all. _Breathe, Wesley_, he reminded himself. He realized he had said the words aloud when he felt Travis' gentle touch on the back of his neck, reassuring and calming.

Maria folded the letter and placed it and the envelope on the coffee table. "Okay boys, come on in and sit down." Travis almost trampled Wes in his efforts to get out of the kitchen and on the couch as quickly as possible. Wes, however, was determined to beat him there. "Try not to maul each other on your way to the couch," she teased.

"So, what's the good word," Travis asked, moving over so Wes could sit beside him. "And if the word's _not_ good, let's just pretend we never received the letter."

Maria smiled, wishing it were that easy to get around. "Not going to happen, baby. I ignore something like that," she waved a hand in the direction of the letter, "and they'll not only come and take our Wesley, but you, too. And we can't have that."

No, definitely not. Not when Travis only had a year left before he was turned out anyway. Starting over at eighteen was going to be rough enough on him. He didn't want to have to start again with a new foster family only to get kicked back out onto the streets in a few months. "No, Mama, we can't."

"Are we ready to know now?" Both boys eagerly nodded their heads, too anxious to speak the word. Wes extended his hand for support and Travis instinctively reached for it. Fingers clasped tightly, they sat as one, waiting for the verdict that would decide Wes' fate. "Well," she began somberly, "I have bad news."

Travis' face fell at the same rate that Wes' heart plummeted to his feet. "No," Wes whispered, unbelieving.

"Yes," Maria said, a slight twitch itching at the corner of her mouth. "It's true. You're stuck with us indefinitely."

"I can't – cant' belive – wait. What?" Wes' eyes widened, the blue depths shining with confusion. He stood and reached for the letter on the coffee table.

"Hold up, Mama," Travis broke in, finally finding his voice. "Are you saying that…"

She was unable to hold the smile back any longer. "Yes, baby, I am. He can stay until he's eighteen."

"YES!" Travis leapt to his feet and began dancing. Pulling Wes into his arms, he chortled with relief. "Did you hear that, blondie? You're mine – ours – indefinitely. However long that is, not that I know or anything…"

Wes chuckled and turned into Travis' embrace. "It's _in_definite, you idiot. It means 'not definite' as in no set date."

"I know what it means, you know-it-all punk, I was just messing with you." Travis planted a loud kiss on the side of Wes' face, raising a lovely blush almost immediately.

"He says that," Maria joined in, hugging both her boys tightly, "but I think he may be lying."

"Hey," Travis protested, giving his foster mom a kiss on the cheek, "I pay attention. And believe me, I have to with the _extensive vocabulary_ buttercup here has. I might as well carry a dictionary around with me."

"So I really get to stay," Wes asked from between the crushing arms of his new mother and his boyfriend. "I don't have to leave?"

"No, you don't have to leave unless you want to. Either of you. And I hope that, by the time you want to, you're both old and grey and I'm long gone."

"How are you holding up?" Travis traced the line of Wes' jaw with a finger, watching him truly relax for the first time since they'd met.

"I'd be much better if your – our – foster mother didn't have such an evil streak. How could she do that to us? No wonder she was the first to put you in your place."

"Ha, ha, very funny, blondie. And not true." He played with a lock of fair hair, thinking for a moment about what might have been. "So you're gonna be okay?"

Wes nodded against Travis' chest before speaking. "Yeah, I think finally I might be."

"Good," Travis announced, cuddling Wes to his chest. "If you're okay, then I'm happy."

"I'm okay, Travis." _Because you're here with me. _"I never dreamed I'd get a chance at a real life. A happy life. You and Mama Maria have given me a second chance. I can never repay either of you."

"Yeah ya can, baby," Travis countered.

"How?" He turned his blue eyes up to meet Travis'.

"By living your life to its fullest. By being happy. By being you as you were meant to be."

Wes frowned. "I don't know if I can do that."

"Neither did I when I first came here to Maria. But she's helped me learn how. And we can both help you. Matter of fact," he said, tickling Wes's stomach, eliciting a delicious squirm out of him, "we insist."

"Why am I not surprised you're insisting on showing me how to live my life," Wes teased.

"Because I plan on being in it for the long haul, Wes, and if I'm gonna be tagging along, mooching off your soon to be educated rich ass, I want to be sure you're living your life right – in style."

Hearty laughter filled the room. Wes couldn't even argue that statement because it was too true to even debate the issue. Instead, he captured Travis' mouth with his own, celebrating his new, undecided future. No more living in the past or hiding from the future. From this day forward, he was going to exist fully in the present.

With Travis.


	10. Chapter 10 - Epilogue

_Author's Note: This is it, guys. I hope you've enjoyed and don't hate me too much for what I've done. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope to have more to share in the future. _

Epilogue – Angel Boy

_I've felt the hand of the Devil, felt his breath on my skin__  
Dip me into the water, wash me again__  
Can I still be forgiven for all of these things__  
Or have I gone too far now__  
Have I lost my wings_

Travis watched Wes take the stage, white cap and gown shining under the overhead lights, red valedictorian sash standing out like a beacon. He never could fathom how Wes managed to maintain such an epic GPA, considering what he had been dealing with, but his grades never faltered no matter how bad things got at home. Which is why he was standing on that stage currently, giving the commencement address for his class' graduation ceremony.

He'd graduated the year prior, but he hadn't been anywhere near the top of his class. Making it was the only thing he'd focused on. Wes had changed his outlook on school, however, and he did worlds better than he had the previous years. Even so, he wasn't any match for Mr. SmartyPant's 4.6 GPA.

Travis couldn't have been more proud of Wes than he was right then.

Wes' speech was eloquent, direct, and meaningful. He spoke with his hands, emphasizing the important parts, hoping that others saw them that way as well. Near the end, he looked out into the audience and caught Travis' gaze. A smile ghosted across his lips, before he sobered up and continued.

He stood before the principal, shaking hands and accepting his diploma. Wes had changed so much since that first day two and a half years ago. Somewhere along the line, that quiet, reserved little boy had grown into a confident, articulate young man. The kind of man you want to be friends with, or just the kind of man you _want to be_. Travis was lucky enough to not just be his friend, but more.

Diploma in hand, Wes made his way to the edge of the stage and stood by his seat, watching as the rest of the class filed by, accepting congratulations and walking away as graduates. But Wes was the first to get his, the first in his class, the first Travis had known to break free of such a debilitating past.

Over the next few weeks, they were tasked with the duty of packing Wes' life up – again – and moving him in with Travis, up north in Stanford, where he'd been accepted to study law. _His Wes was going to be a lawyer someday. _The thought gave Travis chills – both the good kind and the bad kind, considering the kind of kid he'd been at his worst.

The principal was speaking now, closing the ceremony, readying to release the graduates into the world. Wes glowed with happiness, his pride in himself evident on his face. Travis was sure his reflected the same emotions. He gave his boy a subtle two thumbs up and was amused when Wes returned the gesture. Not so very long ago, he wouldn't have dared.

Wes had confessed that he was scared – this was starting over and new beginnings were _hard_. Travis disagreed. This wasn't a new beginning, but the continuing of an established life. The sequel to the movie, the next book in the series. This part was going to be easy because Wes had already made it through the hard part. After what he'd survived? The rest was cake.

All he needed was a little icing… and someone to share it with.


End file.
